


The Detective Doth Fit All Demands

by nookienostradamus



Series: All's Well That Ends Well [3]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: A Rare Bottom!Hank, Anal Sex, And a lot of porn, Angst, Apologies, Cock Warming, Crying, Cuddling, Daddy Kink, Facials, Feelings, Fighting, Gavin is bad at feelings, Hank is bad at Feelings, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Life Lessons, M/M, Oral Sex, Public Sex, Questionable BDSM Motives, Relationship Advice, Spanking, Spit Roast, Threesome, Truly Shitty Communication, Voyeurism, but it gets better, connor is bad at feelings, make-up sex, self doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2019-12-25 14:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 43,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18263189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nookienostradamus/pseuds/nookienostradamus
Summary: When last we saw our heroes, Gavin, Connor, and Hank were riding each other into the sunset. Of course, sex can neverreallybe no-strings-attached.As the three find a rhythm, Gavin notices the dynamic changing between him and Connor. Not in a bad way...just in a way Gavin hasn't really dealt with before. And he's not too keen on dealing with it now. Through a series of mishaps, miscommunications, and missed connections, things get thoroughly cocked up and threaten to push the three of them apart.For all that Gavin, Connor, and Hank had talked about negotiation and boundaries, it turns out nothing really got hashed out at all. But they want to make it work. And that means three ridiculously emotionally stunted people (or two and an android—whatever) have to learn to open up and be vulnerable in a deeper sense than only the physical. If they can make it work, it might just end up being the best thing that has ever happened to any of them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _All’s Well That Ends Well_ , Act II, Scene II:
> 
>  **Countess:** Have you, I say, an answer of such fitness for all  
> questions?
> 
>  **Clown:** From below your duke to beneath your constable, it  
> will fit any question.
> 
>  **Countess:** It must be an answer of _most monstrous size that_  
>  _must fit all demands._
> 
>  
> 
> Big thanks to my beta reader, [thebetterbina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebetterbina). Your excitement is infectious!

 Gavin was slightly freaked out...and _massively_ turned on.

That was par for the course lately—at least when it was the three of them cutting loose. Him, and Connor, and Hank: laughing and drinking good booze in between bouts of fucking each other cross-eyed. Gavin had an endless highlight reel running in his oversexed brain: one ludicrously porny scenario after another. At this rate, he’d have enough jerk-off material to last him until he was bald and toothless and drinking his dinner through a straw.

One of the high points had been the session with the Japanese whiskey (surprisingly good), featuring Gavin enthusiastically licking Hank’s come off of Connor’s chest, bare ass in the air and Hank’s face buried in it, the rasp of that beard against his tender bits driving Gavin right out of his mind. He’d hardly needed that huge bear paw on his cock before he was shooting off on Connor’s chest, too—and licking that right up after.

And it’d probably take a head injury to make him forget the amazing pile-up from a couple of weeks before. Connor’s long, white legs had been hitched up on Gavin’s shoulders, with Gavin pounding into him. Or, actually, _getting pounded_ , with Hank and his colossal cock splitting him open and ramming him hard into Connor at the same time. Gavin might have come twice, actually: the first time when Hank bit his shoulder and painted his insides with come, and then again when he got a faceful of Connor’s spunk. No lie, he probably could have flatlined in the middle of that beef sandwich and gone out on the highest note of his life.

Luckily, he made a full recovery and kept the afterglow burning with pricey cognac.

At the moment, the three of them were at it again. Well, Gavin had yet to join in, but he was still gripping his iron-hard dick like the lap bar on a roller coaster, watching Connor gasp and moan and chew his lip through the ass-beating of a lifetime.

Hence the freaking out _and_ the epic boner.

Connor was bent over the back of the couch and ripping the cushions apart one stitch at a time. If he’d been grabbing onto a person, they’d be missing a few chunks of skin by the end of it.

Hank was in navy cotton boxer briefs and nothing else. It probably wasn’t accurate to say he was “in” them, though, because the fabric was threatening to split down the middle and unleash the beast. He had his beat-up leather belt doubled over, the end wrapped around his wrist, a long, wicked loop cracking down on Connor’s ass every few seconds.

A little sweat had started to crop up between Hank’s shoulder blades and in the small of his back.

Connor had been taking it—and _loving it_ —way past the point that Gavin would have fainted.

Gavin was afraid he might pass out if Hank even _suggested_ using the belt on him. He’d certainly never asked, but he’d never been pressured, either. That was one thing he could definitely say for Hank: the guy had a sixth sense when it came to their limits. He pushed them both right up to the line, but never over. There were times that Gavin honestly wondered whether he’d missed out on some sort of Skull-and-Bones secret dom training club in the Detroit PD, because Hank was good enough to make an absolute killing on the pro circuit. Could likely pull down a shit-ton more cash than he did as a cop.

At the same time, Gavin was going to count his blessings that Lieutenant Hot Bear seemed to be just fine with fucking him up for free.

Gavin was sucking back drool watching it go down between Hank and Connor. Hank would toss his head back to get the sweaty waves of hair out of his face, take a breath, shake out his arm. Then— _smack!_ —haul back that arm and bring the strap down. Connor’s perfect ass would quiver with every strike. Cue the Niagara Falls of spit in Gavin’s mouth, forcing him to swallow hard.

Connor would gasp or groan or make a little high-pitched sighing noise, bend his back deep and push that ass out for more, and at the same time clench his fists until the poor, tortured cushions popped another stitch or two. It was worth sacrificing the couch, Gavin figured, to be able to watch this. Never mind that said couch was probably so crusty by this point that thrift store clerks would come at him with crosses and holy water until he set fire to the thing. Time for a new one...maybe leather.

Adding to the mess, every time Connor got walloped, his cock would leak a little of that shimmery stuff onto the fabric.

Right on cue, Gavin would wince and get lightheaded and choke his dick like it owed him money. If he came, Hank had warned, he’d be next over the couch—and his ass wouldn’t look nearly as pretty and perfect as Connor’s by the end of it.

And so it went:

_Crack!_

_Gasp..._

_Pop…_

_Squeeze…_

_Breathe…_

_Repeat._

Finally, Hank swiped his beefy forearm over his face and sighed. “All right, kid,” he said to Connor. “I can’t believe you’re wearing _me_ out with this.” He dropped the belt and Gavin could finally get a handle on his desperate need to come.

_Mostly_.

Anyway, the next part was his favorite, which was _hella_ weird to admit, even to himself. After a pause to take another deep breath and tuck his hair behind his ears, Hank stepped up close to Connor and ran a gentle hand up his back.

Connor shivered under the touch and Gavin did, too, almost feeling that gigantic, warm palm himself.

“C’mon, babe,” Hank said softly, massaging Connor’s neck. “Stand up for me. Go slow. You did amazing. Such a good boy.”

The praise felt as warm as the hand, even though neither one was given directly to Gavin.

Straightening up slowly, Connor slung one arm around Hank’s waist and nestled into him, making a pleased sound. There was no way in hell he needed the support—at least not physically—but it was sweet. Connor was also pretty spot-on when it came to figuring out what people wanted, and he knew Hank liked the devotion.

Smiling, Hank pulled him close and kissed the top of his head. “You ready to come, baby?”

“Yes, sir,” Connor said. “Please.”

Another quick kiss. “Okay. Let’s get Gavin over here. I think he wants you to come in his mouth.”

Gavin, his dick at the ready, hopped to it like someone had poked his ass with a barbecue fork. It really didn’t matter what Hank told him to do for Connor—for either of them. He wanted _all_ of it. As much as he could get and more. He crawled over like a damn dog to get that rigid, silky, dripping cock onto his tongue. Connor’s sigh and his long fingers in Gavin’s hair made it all worth it.

Through his own wet and eager slobbering, Gavin could hear Hank kissing the skin he’d just tenderized with his belt. When Connor started whining and pushing with little thrusts into Gavin’s mouth, Gavin was pretty sure Hank was putting his tongue to work.

After a minute or so, Hank drew back and gave Connor’s hip a gentle pat. “Go on, beautiful. Come for me.”

The cock filling Gavin’s mouth twitched. Gavin felt a big hand on his flank. “Swallow it all down, gorgeous,” Hank told him. “There’s a good boy. Take every drop.”

_I am a good boy!_ Gavin screamed in his mind, while his mouth could only hum around that pulsing cock, his throat working to get everything down and make Hank proud.

It must have worked, because when he broke away, gasping, Hank grabbed him to lick the taste out of his mouth. Putting the cap on one hell of a night, Hank had him stand up on shaky legs, then sucked him off until he was whimpering and clutching at all that rough, gray hair.

Both Gavin and Connor were more than eager to hit their knees again so Hank could finish on their faces. Afterward, they all rotated through the tiny shower, laughing and mussing each other’s wet hair. At least Gavin had thought to upgrade his towels to something less like sandpaper.

Without anybody expressly saying anything about it, the all-out fuckfests with Hank had gotten more frequent. None of the three seemed to mind.

That wasn’t to say that Gavin and Connor didn’t still have nights to themselves, which—to be honest—Gavin really needed. Where the nights with Hank were exciting, frenzied, sometimes even a little bit brutal, the ones alone with Connor started drifting toward low-key and gentle. Even _tender_ , which made Gavin a smidge paranoid.

Feelings were kind of foreign territory.

There were times he swore up and down Connor read his mind or plugged some wire into a port he didn’t know he had while he was sleeping. He must have picked up on how much Gavin liked the soft bits in between Hank wearing their asses out like a pair of old boots: the praise, the soft kisses, all moving slowly toward (God for-fucking-bid)… _cuddling_.

And Connor, bless him, had slid right into that mode before Gavin could even get a handle on what he was doing. Sneaky fucker. Bit by bit, it was getting less hard and fast and breathless when they fucked and way more long and close. There was a whole other collection of clips in Gavin’s brain for those times.

One night during a rainstorm, Connor had clambered into his lap and wrapped his arms around Gavin’s middle, laying his head on his shoulder. He’d just ridden him slowly without saying a goddamn thing, his lips pressed against Gavin’s neck. If Gavin had to guess—never having seen a romance movie—that was romance movie shit.

Another time stuck in his memory because it was damn rare. Connor had actually stayed in bed all night, or at least had snuck back in before Gavin woke up. Because he was there, all soft-but-still-jacked, kissing on Gavin’s neck and shoulders and pushing his crotch against Gavin’s ass. Connor’s perfect cock was all slippery by the time he’d tugged Gavin’s shorts down, which meant he’d used some of his own special blend of lube. It felt flat-out amazing, and not just the fucking—Gavin ended up really glad he was facing away so Connor didn’t catch any of his morning breath or see him try not to get weepy.

Not too long after that, Gavin and Connor were spending an afternoon inside. One of those where it looked like spring but the freezing wind would bitchslap you if you so much as stepped out in it. Which meant a perfect day for lounging on the couch.

_Goddamn, Gavin needed to rent a steam cleaner_ …

They were under a blanket and chatting—or, rather, Connor was chatting and Gavin was desperately trying to keep up with the conversation. It’s just...well, it was impossible to ignore the fact that Connor’s ramrod cock was buried inside him and looked likely to stay there awhile as Gavin slowly fell apart. Worse, Connor was holding him so he couldn’t even manage an inch of movement—pinned down by that freaky strong arm...and Connor acting like he didn’t have a super-twitchy human wrapped around his dick.

Gavin squirmed, trying to push _down_ instead of _up_ for a change.

“Did you hear me?” Connor asked.

Trying to shake out of his sexed-up haze, Gavin said, “Wha…?”

“Were you listening to what I was saying at all?”

Gavin frowned. He tried not to make it a full-on pout. “Kind of hard to pay attention with your dick in my ass.”

“I thought we were just enjoying physical closeness,” said Connor.

“Cuddling,” Gavin grumped.

“If you like.”

Gavin was starting to like, yeah, and that was a problem. He wrinkled his nose, even though Connor probably couldn’t see it. Who the fuck knew, though. Maybe he had 360-degree vision somehow on top of that super hearing. “Well, usually cuddling comes _after_ you bust a nut. _If_ you’re into that kind of stuff.”

Distracted as he was, Gavin could just about feel Connor do the little doggy-head-tilt thing.

“My interactions with you have led me to believe you _are_ ‘into this stuff,’” Connor said. “Unless I’m mistaken.”

Damn if Gavin’s face didn’t feel like it was on fire—and it wasn’t just the fabulous cock tickling his insides. “Well, I meant...I guess _after_. Uh, I mean— _f_ _uck_ , Connor! Could you just fuck me please?”

“No.” It sounded teasing, but also a little bit pissy.

That was weird; Connor was usually the measured one. He could keep his shit together while Gavin fell apart like a toy made from shitty knock-off Legos. Grunting and squirming, he even tried to tug at that steel arm. No fucking dice.

“I enjoy being close to you,” Connor told him. Again, a touch defensive.

Frustrated to hell and back, Gavin still stopped writhing and put a sweaty hand over Connor’s. “Yeah, I mean...same. Look, Con, you’re just about as close as a guy can get right now. I guess short of having your fist jammed up my butt.”

“Does that interest you?”

“What? No!”

_Maybe._

Despite the amazing pressure and weight of Connor inside him, Gavin’s hard-on was starting to wilt. Which, of course, only added to the frustration. “I like being close, too,” he said. “I like sitting around and kissing, not just fucking. It’s just that we’re _really_ close when we’re fucking. It doesn’t have to get more complicated than that.”

Connor went quiet for a few seconds. If he didn’t have a reason to stop talking—like, say, a dick in his throat—Gavin started to get freaked out.

Finally, he said, “In some ways, you and Hank are very much alike.”

If Gavin wasn’t mistaken, the cock inside him got a little less ragingly stiff. Bad sign. Little tickly fingers of panic were plucking his nerves and making them shiver. “Like what?”

“You are often uncomfortable expressing emotion,” Connor said quietly. “Or, at times, being around those who express emotion.”

“Hey, I was, like, _emotional._ Kind of. Did you forget me crying like a bitch that first night with Hank?”

Connor’s chest moved against Gavin’s back. It felt a little like a sigh. “You had reached a physical limit. It could just as well have been relief.”

“Oh, so now I don’t even cry right.” He moved to cross his arms like a cheesed-off toddler, but stopped himself in time.

“Gavin—” Connor started

Indignant, Gavin cut in: “What happened to ‘it’s just sex?’”

“It’s just sex with _Hank_ ,” Connor said. He’d raised his voice slightly. “For right now, at least. He’s closed off; he doesn’t want to risk being hurt. But I know that he likes it when we kiss him, for example. Not only when we’re engaging in sexual acts. Perhaps more importantly, I see that _you_ like it when he’s gentle, when he praises you, or praises me.”

Sadly, another try to wriggle free did sweet fuck-all for Gavin. Things were getting uncomfortable, and not just in the disappointed-boyfriend’s-dick-sliding-out-of-your-love-tunnel way. He tried for a cocky tone. “Yeah, well, I like it a lot of ways. Hard, slow, whatever. I’m, like, a Resistance Man.”

Connor huffed. “You’re afraid. If you were really fine with expressing emotion, maybe you wouldn’t have felt it necessary to qualify the way you were crying as ‘like a bitch.’ People cry, Gavin.”

“ _You_ don’t cry!”

“I’m not _people_.” Connor suddenly relaxed his grip, letting his arm go limp.

If Gavin had been straining against it like before, he would have pitched forward ass-up like a moron. Connor had just about slipped free and suddenly Gavin wanted him to stay.

“Besides,” Connor said, “how do you know I don’t cry?” He was giving back pouty sass in a very Gavin-like tone.

_Christ...did he really sound like that?_

There was real and obvious hurt behind it, too. That was something Gavin had never heard. Connor was stone cold reason, the nanny-voice in his skull telling him _don’t smoke that_ and _if you jump off there you’ll break your legs, not look like a badass_.

He was, well, a _machine_. _..right?_

A couple of heavy thumps, luckily padded by the skeezy cushions, and Gavin was left empty and bare-assed on the couch while Connor did up his fly.

“Con, hey,” he said, yanking his sweatpants up in a stab at dignity. “Come on. You don’t have to be like that.”

“ _You_ don’t have to be like that,” Connor shot back. His face was really tight-looking, kind of like how the kids Gavin smacked around in grade school used to look before a beatdown.

All of a sudden, Gavin’s chest was so tight it hurt to breathe—way tighter than Connor’s hold on him—and every ounce of piss and vinegar in him just _left_. He felt like pure, unfiltered shit. Or even worse: shit that’s been stepped in, sitting there all squashed and ugly after totally ruining someone’s day.

“Connor! I was a jerk, okay?” Gavin said, holding both hands out like a blind guy in one of those weird old Bible movies. “I’m—I take it back. You can put your dick in me as long as you want. Promise I won’t move. I won’t even complain!”

But Connor was already walking toward the door, leaving Gavin to scamper along on his heels: the dog who’d just chewed up a three hundred-dollar pair of shoes.

“Please,” he tried.

“I’d just like you to _think_ ,” Connor told him. “About what you feel _and_ what you say.”

It could have been that his eyes were a little shiny. Gavin hoped to fuck it was the angle of the kitchen light, because if he’d actually made Connor _cry_ he’d never get over it. He might as well fall on his knees and unzip his guts right there on the kitchen floor, just like in Japanese war stories.

_What the hell did they call that? Sucker punch? Serpico?_

Connor looked down at the floor, his hand on the doorknob. “And think about what I might need to hear.” Then he was opening the door. The blast of cold air didn’t faze him at all, but it knocked Gavin breathless.

Still, he managed to call out, “Connor, wait!”

The door very nearly closed, but Connor poked his head in again, one dark chunk of that shiny hair swinging over his forehead in the insane wind. “And the term is ‘Renaissance Man,’” he said, in the voice of a teacher about to slap down a detention.

Then _boom!_ He was out the door and gone.

“Shit, fuck!” Gavin shouted at the rattling door frame. Well, more like _at himself_ . “Fuckshit! Fucking... _cuntfuck_!” For a half-second, he was tempted to pick up the coffee mug that still sat on the table and chuck it at the wall.

No, dammit—the cup had been a present from Hank.

_Gag gift_ , he’d said. _‘Cause I’m gonna gag you later._

Spoiler: he absolutely had.

Remembering it took all the fire out of Gavin. He felt like a balloon a couple days after a party: the ones that aren’t quite all the way gone but kind of hover at waist height and look pathetic. But he hefted the mug and somehow it made the punched-in-the-heart feeling ease up for a second. It was printed with a cartoon police badge and text that read

 

_World’s Greatest Dick_

 

Obviously, Connor didn’t drink coffee (or anything), so Hank had gotten him a cheap, fake-leather badge holder that said the same thing. Gavin had actually felt _smart_ for once explaining that “dick” was an old-timey-people word for “detective.”

Seeing Connor laugh after that had been... _man._ Like stepping into an air conditioned shop on one of those summer days that was hotter than the devil’s asshole at a taco buffet. Hank was way better at cracking Connor up, but it didn’t really matter who set it off.

Fuck, Gavin _loved_ that laugh.

He almost dropped the mug. Where had _that_ word come from? Yeah, okay, he’d said _his laugh_ and not _him_.

Not even _said!_ Just _thought_.

In his empty house.

That the owner of the laugh had just walked out of.

Still, Gavin was immediately as antsy as a first-time drug mule. And he definitely was not into thinking about what came out of his mouth at all, much less trying to puzzle out what Connor wanted him to say.

The interim cure for all of that was getting righteously hammered.

Gavin dove for the fridge and grabbed a brew, popping the tab and feeling some of the _what-the-fuck_ ease away. Without even rinsing out the coffee sludge, he poured it right into the _World’s Greatest Dick_ mug and parked his sorry ass for the long haul.

 

**

 

If Gavin had possibly thought the fight was a dream, he discovered he was dead-ass wrong the following day. Connor brushed off Gavin’s purposely shy-sounding greeting in the station kitchenette with his perfect nose in the air. On top of that, he dodged Gavin’s hand on his shoulder like a fourth-grader trying to avoid _boy cooties_.

Gavin was floored at the same time he was hella pissed: he’d ducked his head, glanced up from under his eyelashes, hunched over. Looked guilty... _ish_. But Connor hadn’t taken the bait.

He was so distracted he ended up forgetting the cream in his coffee, and burned the bejesus out of his upper lip with the first heedless swig. His mood going even darker, Gavin stalked past the Homicide Squad desks and into the maze of cubicles they gave patrol cops. His luck had been pretty poor up till then, but at least he managed to find Tina sitting and scowling at some form or another on her console. He thumped on the cube wall and she looked up.

“Hey, shitface,” Tina said. “Haven’t seen you looking so fucking grim for a while now. Somebody piss in your cornflakes?”

“‘Hi’ to you, too,” Gavin said, trying pretty hard not to smile. Tina Chen was one of his hands-down favorite people in the entire DPD. She’d been at number one before Connor (and this new thing with Hank, too), but that was mainly because nobody else would give him the time of day. Tina had a mouth on her that would make a sailor blush and she was smart as hell. Even though she was a good six years behind Gavin out of the academy, she totally could have made detective twice over by now. But she’d turned it down and probably would forever. Gavin had to respect it.

Tina wanted to stay on the street because she fucking _loved_ busting heads.

He’d seen the meter-and-a-half-tall Tina put _serious_ hurt on taller guys. Maybe because it came out of left field; they weren’t expecting to get knuckle-crunched by a petite, deceptively cute chick who weighed in at 50 kilograms tops. Oftentimes, there was barely any interrogating to do on a suspect if Tina had gotten to them first. They’d just sit there pouting with a busted lip and sign whatever you gave them.

She was absolutely the kind of girl Gavin would go for...if he went for girls. Then again, he should probably be glad he didn’t. Connor had only stormed out; Tina would have ripped his nuts off and worn them around her neck the next day.

“Seriously,” she said, cuffing him lightly on the arm, “someone put a dead rat in your lunch bag?”

Gavin wrinkled his nose. “Don’t have a lunch bag.” He paused. “Guy trouble, I guess.”

Tina put on an expression of over-exaggerated shock. “You pissed somebody off? _You? Gavin Reed?_ Never!”

He sighed. “Oh, fuck you. Have fun with your forms.”

“Aw, Gav. I’m just fuckin’ with you. Pull up a chair and tell Mama Tina all about it.”

The thought of anyone—especially an actual child—calling Tina “mama” was horrifying, but Gavin brushed it off. He desperately needed advice from someone who wouldn’t mince words, and Tina was top of the list. He dragged over a chair from one of the neighboring cubes and sat down hard.

Propping one ankle up on the opposite knee, Tina asked, “So?”

“So I’m seeing this guy,” Gavin told her. “We kind of...well, I guess we had a fight yesterday.”

“First one?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” He looked over his shoulder, then sighed. “Things were kind of, you know, getting hot yesterday. Then out of the blue, he says I’m ‘not comfortable expressing emotion’ or some shit.”

Tina squinted. “Really? He just said that? Out of nowhere?”

Gavin clenched his jaw for a second. “Okay, not _out of nowhere._  He wanted to cuddle. _I_ wanted to fuck. And he’s saying he just wants to be close sometimes, and I’m like, ‘Well, we’re close when we _fuck_.’ Like, am I wrong?”

Raising her eyebrows, Tina said, “Not technically. So what did Connor say?”

“Well, he—” Gavin stopped. “Wait...how did you…? I never said it was—”

Tina slapped him _hard_ on the shoulder, knocking a little of the panic out of him. “Relax,” she said. “I don’t think anyone else knows.” She tilted her head, touching the point of her chin. “I’d watch out for Anderson, though. Old bastard’s pretty sharp.”

Gavin wasn’t going to say a goddamn thing about that one.

_Tina, you have no idea_.

“Plus,” she said, looking back at him and winking, “Robot Boy is the only cop on the force who would ever, _ever_ tell someone they’re ‘not comfortable expressing emotion.’” She even used air quotes with Connor’s words.

“Huh,” Gavin said. “Solid point.”

“Anyway,” Tina went on, “I’m happy for ya. I mean when you’re not fighting. How’s that robo-dick?” Before Gavin could answer, though, she said, “It’s great, obviously, or you wouldn’t be so worked up about this.”

When it came to _sharp_ , Tina could definitely give Hank a run for his money. He wondered if Connor had ever talked to her. He’d probably be on board with her bluntness, and if Gavin’s swearing didn’t bother him, Tina’s wouldn’t either—although hers was way more creative.

“Yeah,” Gavin admitted. “So he walks out, says I need to think about how I feel and what I say. And what _he_ wants to hear. Which I totally don’t get. How the hell am I supposed to know what he wants to hear?”

Tina sat back, the chair squealing. “Well, that’s the easy part. He wants _you_ to say you’re sorry.”

“But I didn’t do anything!” Gavin said. It came out whiny, but whatever.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Tina. “I guaran-damn-tee you that’s what he’s looking for.”

“How do you know?”

A little smile on her face, she leaned forward again and patted the spot on Gavin’s shoulder she’d slapped a few seconds earlier. “It’s called ‘being a functional human,’ my man. It’s okay, you wouldn’t know.”

He shrugged her off. “Yeah, yeah. Get stuffed.” He scratched along his jaw line, where the stubble was getting a little too long and starting to itch. The full beard worked for Hank, but that wasn’t Gavin’s style. “I still don’t really get why he thinks I don’t show feelings. I do. And not just pissed off. Like happy and sad. Aren’t those feelings?”

Tina made a noise; it sounded like she wasn’t really going for it, either. “Maybe he wants you to be vulnerable. Show your soft side.” She laughed, obviously getting a look at his expression. “Look, the whole hard-ass, invincible, super-cop thing? Everybody knows it’s an act.”

“They do?”

“Yeah, numbnuts, ‘cause we all do it. Every cop acts that way and every cop knows it’s a front. Well…”

Gavin stuck a finger in her face. “Don’t you dare.”

Holding up her hands, Tina laughed and said, “Touché. Anywho, it’s how we cope, right? Every day you go out, there’s a chance you don’t come home. And it’s always there in the back of your mind. It’s ‘cause we’re scared. The hard truth is, Fuckaroo Banzai, the tougher you act, the more scared you are.”

Frowning, Gavin looked between his knees at the dirty floor. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Another jaw-rattling back slap. “Think about it, okay? I know you’re not stupid. I mean on the inside, underneath all the stupid.”

“Hey!”

This time when it touched his shoulder, Tina’s hand was gentle. “You’ll be okay, champ,” she said. “One fight’s not gonna bump you off the robo-dick train. Just say you’re sorry, and try to sound like you mean it.”

“Got any pointers?” Gavin asked.

Tina chuckled and leaned back in the chair. She stuck the end of her stylus between her teeth. It was already pretty chewed up. “Fuck no,” she said. “I never apologize.”

 

**

 

Sitting down at his console and concentrating on _work_ wasn’t actually going to happen. This was something Gavin realized after trying to do it for about an hour and a half. His goddamn brain felt like it was on fire. He figured Tina’s advice was probably good, but it seemed like whenever he thought he’d worked up the guts to go through with it, he smacked up against this invisible wall and turned right around again.

After every time he chickened out, he ended up silently bitching at himself: _quit second-guessing—nut up and do it!_ Then the meathead voice in his brain would start in and get louder: _no you don’t have to_ and _you didn’t do anything; Connor’s the one who should grovel._ Which freaked Gavin out even more, because what if he was a pussy _and_ a douchebag and there wasn’t anything underneath it that Connor would actually _like_?

Or that _anyone_ would.

He was on the fast track to Loserville—doomed to be chubby and lonely and drunk—all because he didn’t know how to pry the right words out of his brain and put them in his goddamn mouth.

On top of everything, thinking about winding up a fat, old has-been made him feel guilty about the way he used to think about Hank. The whole sorry package made him feel like shit squared.

Fed up with watching Connor move around the corners of his vision, acting like Gavin’s desk was a black hole full of some kind of dickhead gravity, Gavin finally got up and grabbed his jacket and headed outside. It was a gray day, a little warmer than the day before, but all piled up with heavy clouds ready to piss it down. He didn’t carry an umbrella; _obviously_ , he wasn’t a wuss.

A little thunder was growling over the top of City Hall. Gavin’s stomach growled, too. He ducked inside Mamma Toula’s Famous Greek Diner, which always smelled like lamb and floor cleaner. The lamb made sense, considering one of those big hunks of pressed meat was constantly rotating in its roaster, ready to be shaved down into mouth-watering slices. The floor cleaner was Toula’s obsession. She was an old Greek lady who’d bought out the place from another, older Greek guy. Everybody knew to avoid the place when he’d owned it, because it’d be shut down like clockwork every couple of months for health violations.

Toula didn’t put up with any of that nonsense. When she took over, she stripped off the old blue-and-white striped awning and closed the doors for two weeks. The day her new sign went up and the doors opened again, the diner was so clean you could eat off just about any surface. The smell coming out of it (aside from floor cleaner) drew lines that stretched around the block. She’d never had a less-than-perfect health inspection. That was her goal until, as Toula herself said, “they put me in the fucking ground, yeah?”

Gavin _loved_ Toula—like Tina, she couldn’t possibly be over a meter and a half tall, but she had this huge cloud of gray hair and a habit of gesturing wildly while holding kitchen knives. And she didn’t take shit from _anybody_. Not even her son, Demetrios, who cringed every time his mom swore around customers.

In the pre-Connor days, Gavin had taken a stab at hitting on Demetrios. He was a damn good-looking guy. The cheesy line didn’t seem to faze him, but he said he wasn’t really into sex, so Gavin didn’t push.

He wasn’t _that_ kind of asshole.

Right inside the door, with the little silver bell jingling in his ear and raindrops starting to spot the sidewalk, Gavin texted Connor’s console. He kept meaning to ask if Connor could get texts right to his computer brain or whatever.

_Coffee @ Toulas?_

A reply came right back. _I don’t want to speak to you right now._

_Wanted 2_ —  Gavin hesitated, feeling his face bunching up as he psyched himself to type the next words  — _say i’m sorry._

A couple of nervous minutes.

_Thank you, Gavin. I can meet you in ten minutes._

That made his heart leap. He was shaking a little bit, even, when he bent down to let Toula plant a kiss on his cheek.

“You cold?” she asked. “I get you coffee. Strong, with lots of sugar, yeah?”

Giving her a nod, Gavin went to sit down.

The brew, when it came, was in one of those cheap diner ceramic mugs that was so thick he felt like he needed a Mick Jagger mouth to fit over the rim without spilling. But it smelled like heaven.

Toula set it down, ruffled Gavin’s hair, patted his cheek, then said, “You need a shave. The boys—they don’t like a scratchy face, yeah? Like sanding paper on the _arhídia_!” She gave a belly laugh that was way louder than a small body like that should be able to produce.

“Mamma, for God’s sake!” Demetrios yelled from the kitchen.

“What?” Toula shouted back. “It’s Greek! He don’t understand it!” She turned back to Gavin and whispered, “You don’t speak Greek, yeah?”

He shook his head. “No. Sure don’t.”

After a look back toward the swinging doors behind the counter, Toula leaned down and said in a stage whisper, “ _It means ‘balls!_ ’” She slapped Gavin on the shoulder, almost as hard as Tina had. “ _Now_ you speak Greek!”

As she walked away, Gavin shook his head. Toula could make somebody laugh at a funeral. Shit, she could probably make someone laugh at _their own_ funeral.

His nerves started sparking and jumping again when he heard the bell on the door. He took a slug of the coffee hot enough to singe the roof of his mouth and waited for Connor to sit down.

_Fuckin’ goddamn, he was gorgeous_. They might be on iffy terms right then, but Gavin was pretty sure he’d never get over seeing that face—every time like the first time. Except with a whole lot less “repressed android boner.” Thank fuck the boner was out in the open now.

_Nope, that didn’t sound right._

“Hi,” he said, looking at Connor’s chin instead of his eyes.

“Hello, Gavin.”

It went totally silent after that. Something clanged into a sink in the kitchen. Gavin could hear his own breathing. Connor didn’t breathe.

“Uh, listen. I’m—I’m sorry. I’m an asshole.”

Connor reached out to brush one pale finger along the back of Gavin’s hand.

That was a good sign.

“You’re not an asshole,” he said.

Gavin looked up, good and ready to smile, really put on the high beams.

“But you acted like one,” said Connor.

“Huh?” Gavin pulled his hands into his lap so fast he almost knocked his coffee over. “How was I acting like an asshole if I just wanted to” —he leaned in to whisper— “have sex?”

“ _I_ just wanted to cuddle,” Connor told him, giving him the kicked-puppy face.

“Well your...freakin’ _dick_ was inside me! What about that says ‘I don’t want to have sex?’”

The little crease between Connor’s dark eyebrows got deeper. “You _know_ I can stay erect without being aroused. I’m not a human.”

“Well, you’re the first not-a-human I’ve been with,” Gavin said. Even his _whisper_ managed to sound childish and desperate. “And every other time you’ve been hard, we fucked! I can’t...read your damn mind.”

“You could have listened.” The hurt was scrubbed off Connor’s face and it was painted over with that stone-cold bitchiness from the day before. He’d even crossed his arms, sitting back against the squeaky, aqua-blue vinyl of the booth.

“I tried,” Gavin said. “But you just walked off.”

“I was angry.”

“So was I!” Gavin sat back hard, the leather of his jacket smacking against plastic. “And now here we are again.”

Connor narrowed his eyes. “I thought it was really brave of you to apologize. But it turns out all you wanted to do was shift the blame.”

“Yeah?” Gavin asked. Oh, he was perilously close to getting misty-eyed, and he’d rather run to the john and punch a mirror than cry right then—in front of Connor, or Toula, or _anyone_. “I figured you were brave enough to come talk but you just clammed up again! So whose fault is it?”

He could see that Connor wanted to come right back and point the finger at him; he was all tensed up like he expected a cap gun to go off next to his ear at any second. For the first time since Conor had sat down, Gavin could sympathize—because he wanted to point fingers, too.

But both of them just stared hard and nasty enough to make the formica of the table blister.

Finally, Connor stood up. In a cool voice, he said, “I don’t think we should see each other until we figure this out.”

Gavin smacked the tabletop, sloshing coffee. He’d barely drunk any of it. “ _We_ aren’t gonna figure anything out unless we talk.”

“Well, obviously that’s not working.”

“And ignoring each other will?”

The short pause felt like it was full of something—a bucket of dirty mop water Connor wanted to dump over Gavin’s head.

“I don’t know,” he said.

At that, Gavin could only stare, wide-eyed and with his jaw dangling...because he was pretty sure that was the first time he’d ever heard Connor say he didn’t _know_ something. The shock lasted until the bell jingled again, and he turned to see Connor slipping out the door. His eyes filled up and spilled over, causing a mad grab for napkins from the dispenser at the center of the table.

_You just cut that shit out._

Gavin pushed the rough paper against his eyes until he felt like he could open them again.

A soft hand fell on his shoulder and he squeaked like a damn hamster, balling up the soggy, snotty napkins in one hand and then cramming the mass into his jacket pocket.

“I get you coffee to go,” Toula said. “Men, they don’t think, yeah?”

“But I’m—”

Toula silenced him with a pat on the head. “I know, _glike mu_.” She took the mug away and came back with a bioplastic cup.

It was hot to the touch and Gavin was so grateful he almost cried again.

“That one, I think you have to chase him,” Toula said. “Like bad guy. You know how to do this! Figure out what he do, the places he like. Be there before him! Make a surprise. Maybe wear nice suit so you take off later, yeah?”

Demetrios wailed from behind the pie display. “Mamma!”

Rolling her eyes, she sighed and waved him away.

“You’re real good to me, Toula,” Gavin told her, slinging his free arm around her tiny, bird-thin shoulders. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. You give me more money than any cop! Just bring that one back to say ‘hi,’ yeah? Very cute.” She wiggled her eyebrows a couple times. “Very nice, too, from the back.”

A groan rose from the general direction of the pies.

“Never mind him,” Toula said. She patted Gavin’s bicep. “You shave, too. Okay?”

 

**

 

Any bump of courage he’d gotten from Toula got flushed out pretty quick when the grumbling clouds started dumping rain halfway back to the station. With a thumb over the hole in the lid, at least Gavin had managed to keep his coffee pure. He’d made it within a half-meter of the door, soaked and slimy with melted hair gel like a fucking bullfrog, and decided it was _nope_ time. Wet to the skin and shivering, he pulled an old oil-covered rag out of the trunk of his car, plopped it on the seat, and drove miserably home.

He was two beers into the evening, sprawled out on his nasty couch with some reality show about car modding on the stream, when a horrible realization hit. Such a moment in the life of Pathetically Single Gavin—that was, before Connor and then Hank waltzed into his sex life—would have been a prime point for a lazy wank. Brew in one hand, dick in the other, the screen going fuzzy as he slipped into daydreams about railing some long-haired young punk in a denim vest.

Realizing how much of a step up Connor was from his typical pull was depressing as hell. What’s more, Gavin hadn’t even dared to dream about getting slammed into his mattress by a slab of meat like Hank. In the few-and-far-between fantasies where something like that _did_ happen, he’d always seen himself acting the brat...not the snuggle-grubbing sub he obviously was.

With his confidence already shaken to the root by his fight with Connor, it left a door open in Gavin’s mind. It let doubt crawl right in. Maybe, he thought, Hank was indulging him because they were both horny and it just worked, but really he wanted someone like Connor. Someone who could take a straight-up beating and come back with enough sass to earn a brutal fuck with his face shoved into a pillow. Not some touch-hungry bitch boy going koala on his leg and begging for a few soft words.

Maybe Gavin was just _weak_.

Considering he couldn’t care less about the show—and the fact that would take a mad scientist and a lightning machine to get his dick up—there wasn’t much more to do than try to sleep.

He sighed and jiggled the beer can. What was left in there sloshed around, probably warm and nasty by now. With another sigh, Gavin got up and chucked the thing at the kitchen sink. It knocked against the faucet, spun up against the opposite side, then dropped into the drain, leaking foam.

“Nothing but net,” he muttered. It really _was_ like that old basketball player Captain Fowler was telling him about—Muggsy Bogues—barely keeping up with the bigger guys by trying three times as hard.

It took forever to fall asleep, with Gavin turning the pillow over and over and switching sides of the bed until he thought he’d go batshit. When he finally did drift off, he slid right into dreams about the kids from his grade school chasing him around the playground.

Only this time they were 30 feet tall.

 

**

 

It was too much to hope that Connor would see him looking like goddamn Nosferatu the next day and feel guilty. When they passed in the break room, he only shot Gavin a look that was pure, chilling _robot_ —complete with dead-ass mannequin eyes. Even his incredible mouth looked painted on, and that was almost the worst part.

Gavin was sure nobody had seen the death glare, but a few of the guys who came in behind him gasped and muttered when he tossed back a half cup of almost-boiling coffee straight out of the air pot.

His whole mouth was on fire for an hour and swollen for another two, but at least it meant he could concentrate on that instead of every-fucking-thing else.

When the pain faded, though, all the shitty thoughts came rushing right back. After finding out in the echoing men’s room that he was so worked up he could barely piss, Gavin gritted his teeth and paged Hank to Interview Room Five.

As always, he was shocked at the instant change in Hank’s expression between opening the door and closing it. From careful and neutral to flat-out predatory as soon as the lock clicked.

He was the lion at the watering hole, which made Gavin the three-legged antelope.

And thankfully, all of the crap swirling in Gavin’s head didn’t do a thing to stop his body from reacting. Looking from Hank’s wicked grin to his big, rough hands, Gavin’s cock twitched and his mouth started to water.

_That had to be a good sign. Right?_

“I...need to blow off steam,” he managed.

Hank’s voice was somewhere between a purr and a diesel engine. “I know what you need, boy. And you’re going to shut your mouth while I give it to you.”

Heart thumping, Gavin turned and slapped his palms on the tabletop.

In a half-second, there were fingers tight in his hair and Hank was all warm and huge and soap-smelling next to him.

“And _then_  you’ll thank me for it afterward,” Hank said. “Correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

Some of the tightness in Gavin’s chest started to ease off as the familiar routine kicked in. Not all of it, but enough so he could unlock his knees and let his shoulders sink down from around his damn ears.

Down went the jeans, then the boxer briefs. He was pretty sure by now Hank could get him out of his clothes blindfolded with one hand tied behind his back.

_Which would actually be pretty sexy_ —

—Whack!

Gavin yipped and wriggled as that super-size paw smacked down on his bare ass. “Wait!” He caught his breath and chanced a look over his shoulder.

Ooh, and there was a _vicious_ pinch to the same cheek Hank had just slapped. “I beg your pardon? Are you asking me to _wait_?”

Sucking in air like a jet propeller, Gavin wheezed, “Use— _use the belt_.” He could feel Hank break character for a second or two, his hand shaking a little over Gavin’s skin.

“You sure?” he asked.

Another breath. “Yeah.” Then, “Please.” In a very small voice, he added, “Sir.”

Gavin was staring hard at his wiggly reflection in the metal of the table.

Behind him, Hank was clearly struggling to bring Bad Daddy Bear back. “If you need…” he started, then breathed out. “Lift up your hands. If, you know…”

“ _Just do it_ ,” Gavin snapped.

“All right, kid. Mouth off at me; see what that gets you.” Some of the sexy rumble was back in that voice.

Still, Gavin’s heart plunged into his gut and he felt a bit dizzy when he heard the soft _clink_ of a belt buckle coming loose. He pulled in a breath and leaned forward, mashing his already-sweating palms against the table.

Hank was definitely testing with the first swing. There was a sharp-sounding slap but not much impact—mainly the worn-out leather hitting itself.

_Come on!_ Gavin’s mind shouted, even though he was gritting his teeth and feeling every muscle start to tense one by one.

Of course Hank noticed it. “Relax,” he said. “Take a fucking breath or I’m cutting you off.”

After forcing his jaw to open up, Gavin focused on stopping the quivering in his legs. It was a good thing he’d grabbed a breath, too, because it got caught up in his throat like a lump of hot lead on the next strike.

Hank had definitely stopped fucking around on the second go.

There was a throbbing stripe of pain across Gavin’s left ass cheek from hip to crack, making him hiss and try to grab at the table. This shit was _not_ what he expected, but he’d put himself in that room and he was damn sure gonna make it count.

_Speaking of_ …

“Count ‘em,” Hank said. “Out loud. Fuck up and I start over.”

“One!” Gavin shouted straight away. It was too loud, but he was trying not to sound like a complete puss.

The next one cracked down on the other side, the end of the strap wrapping around and popping so hard on the outer curve of his ass that it felt like a Taser hit. Gavin’s fingernails were cut short, but he still felt them bend as his hands tensed and he clawed at the metal.

“Two!” It was a strained little doggy yelp. Too much more of this and Gavin was going to end up dancing like someone was squeezing off rounds at his feet.

The soft hand on his butt surprised him more than the belt. “Hey,” Hank said. “You okay?”

_Nope nope nope I most certainly am_ not _._

“I’m _fine_ ,” Gavin growled. “What about you, old man? Losing your edge?”

Well, _that_ ended up being a bad call, because the belt actually whistled that time. A short, airy creak before it hit and yanked all the air out of Gavin’s lungs. He felt lightheaded, with gray stuff swirling around the edges of his vision. Trying to get his breath, blink away the fog, and settle into the fierce burn in his backside all at the same time was just too much.

“What number was that?” Hank asked. If Gavin had been able to pay attention, he might have noticed Hank was trying pretty hard to keep up the game, too.

“Ungh. Three. I think.”

“You think?”

“Three!”

Almost as soon as the word was out, the goddamn strap cracked down right into the crease under Gavin’s butt. He made a little sobbing noise. One sweat-drenched palm slid out under the weight he’d been putting on it and he went hard down on one elbow, knocking the bone so hard his teeth rang like a fucking bell.

A hot tear fell right off the ridge of his cheekbone and splashed on his forearm. “Fuck. Oh, _shit._ ” If the blows just kept coming, maybe he’d pass out.

_Christ_ —were they on four? Just _four_?

A brutal hand in his hair hauled him backward and up off his bruised elbow. “Wanna tell me what the fuck you’re doing?” Hank asked. He was pissed off for real, now. And something else, too.

Gavin was way too out of it to pin down the strange tone he heard in Hank’s voice. “Nuh...nothing. I’m okay. Don’t stop.”

“I don’t think so. Your head ain’t on straight today. And I can tell ‘cause your goddamn dick is limp. So what’s this about?”

“Gotta...be brave,” Gavin managed. It sounded like the lie it was, considering he was all teary-eyed and snotty. “Nut up and take it.”

Hank let him go with a sound of disgust.

It was all Gavin could do to keep from smacking his forehead on the tabletop.

“The hell you do,” Hank said. “Pull your pants up and get the fuck out of here.”

“Wait—”

“No. Find somebody else to fuck you up.”

Gavin didn’t hear the swish-and-click of the belt pulled back through its loops and buckled again, but he _did_ hear the door slam as Hank stomped away, leaving him with nothing but the sound of his own breath.

“Shit!” He pounded his fists on the table— _hard_. It left little starbursts of sweat. In two goddamn days, he’d managed to drive away the only two people he was reasonably sure actually liked him. Or at least tolerated him enough to put their mouths on his dick once in a while.

Hard to be sure just then.

Gavin pulled the hem of his shirt up over his fists and knuckled the tears out of his eyes, then worked up the courage to run his fingers over his throbbing ass. The places where the belt had struck were puffy and warm, and felt just about as raw as the roof of his mouth. Swearing at himself for his own stupidity, he sniffed back a throatful of snot and started easing his boxer briefs up over his tenderized butt. The cotton felt like sandpaper.

Jeans were next; it felt like those took ten minutes on their own.

At least he was mostly clear-eyed when he finally limped out of Interview Five and let the door click shut behind him.

 

**

 

For the rest of the afternoon, Gavin tried to hover over the seat of his desk chair until his quads were shaking and burning. In the end, he gave up, settled in, and just _hurt_. There was no focusing on work, and even though the pain started to ease up after an hour or so, shifting barely an inch in his seat was a reminder.

He didn’t care about marks or bruises, not really. What sunk him to rock bottom were the shreds of confidence and dignity—and _hope_ —fluttering down around him. The world’s saddest confetti.

Gavin didn’t see Hank again, or Connor, for the rest of the shift. In fact, he was so deep in his own head that he failed to notice the entire squad had cleared out, leaving him alone at his desk and staring at a console that had flipped into sleep mode.

The sound of a smooth, deep voice caught Gavin so far off guard he shrieked and almost tipped his chair. Righting himself scraped up a new smolder in the injured skin of his ass. After wincing and shaking his head, he looked up and saw Fowler standing a couple desks away, an amused look on his face. Gavin did a double-take; the captain had his tie undone and slung loose around his neck. The top buttons of his shirt were open and the ones lower down looked a little strained over his gut. That hint of beer belly was something Gavin had never noticed. Did Fowler really suck it in all day? Or did his pants just sort of cover it, all hiked up old man-style?

“I was gonna guess you were sleeping with your eyes open,” Fowler said.

Gavin rubbed at his eyes with the heel of one hand, blinking gooey floaters out of his vision. “Why?”

Fowler grunted and took something out of his back pants pocket. It was a little silver flask, but that seemed like such anti-Fowler behavior that Gavin thought for a second he _was_ asleep.

“Well, son,” the captain said, “let’s just say you’re not usually given to deep thought.”

“I think,” said Gavin, in a way that suggested that was not the case. “I mean...I _think_.”

Fowler could have laughed and turned right around, but he smiled slightly, instead, and strolled over. “Took me a while to learn the value of winding down a bit. Off company time.” He shook the flask at Gavin’s empty coffee mug. “Care for a nip?”

All Gavin could manage was, “Uh.”

Apparently after day shift, the precinct house turned into some fucking Bizarro World where Fowler drank whiskey and took off his tie.

Then again, Gavin was dealing with his first case of sore ass in about thirty years that didn’t come from a good time, so things were pretty weird to begin with.

Chuckling, Fowler spun the cap off the flask. It made a thin metallic sound. “Doesn’t seem like you need more distraction right now, anyway.” He took a healthy swig. Whatever was in there must have been strong enough to take the paint off a battleship, because Gavin could smell it from where he sat.

Fowler didn’t even wince. “Big case on the brain?” he asked.

“Uh,” Gavin said again. Two minutes into talking to another human and he’d gone full rabbit. And not even one of those rangy ones with hidey-holes all over—just a runaway pet, lost and shaking like a junkie at every weird noise.

“Jee-zuss,” Fowler breathed. “Whatever it is, Reed, you’ve got it bad. Beef with one of the guys, maybe? Lovers’ quarrel?”

“More the second one, I guess.” Gavin could hear the misery in his own voice. “And I keep asking people what the fuck to do, but when I do it, everything goes wrong.”

Fowler cleared his throat and parked one butt cheek on the edge of Gavin’s desk. “Well, seems to me you might be trying to do what people are telling you to do the way _they_ do it. Not how _you_ would.” When Gavin sat back in alarm, the captain leaned forward and poked him in the middle of the chest. “Use your cop sense.”

“That’s even worse,” Gavin wailed. His head tipped forward and smacked into his hands. “All I want to do is get mad, yell about it. Pick a fight and get punched.”

A hand came down gently on his shoulder. People were being mighty touchy-feely these days. It would have weirded Gavin out if he hadn’t needed it so bad. He looked up.

Fowler was shaking his head. “No, no. See, that’s your _instinct_ you’re working on.”

“It’s not the same thing?”

“Nope.” Fowler sounded totally assured.

But then again, so had Tina. And Toula. Gavin wasn’t quite ready to think about what had happened with Hank.

“Instinct is your hindbrain, the fight or flight,” said Fowler. “Like a dog hunting a rabbit.”

That earned a wince.

“The forebrain can override instinct,” Fowler went on. “Or even better, make it so training _feels_ like instinct. Cop sense is trained; it’s muscle memory.” He shifted his weight and thumped his chest, letting out a discreet belch. “When you first made detective, how many times you miss something at a crime scene? How many times you end up going back over the vids and 3D captures looking for something else?”

It wasn’t clear where this was headed, but Gavin was willing to go with just about anything at that point. “Uh, lots, I guess. More than now.”

When Fowler stabbed a finger in Gavin’s direction, he could hear the liquid slosh inside the flask. “See? That’s muscle memory. You get it from years of practice. Now, when you go into a scene, you know what to look for. That means you have more to ask your suspect about, more to use against him. And you’re better at using it, too—because you know what it means.”

“I don’t get it.”

“Listen, kid,” Fowler said. “Let me tell you a little story. It doesn’t have anything to do with police work, but it helped me to be a better cop. Among other things.”

“Okay,” Gavin said. He resisted the temptation to look at the time.

“When I was young— _real_ young, still a patrol officer—I was seeing this woman. Rosario Velez. Most beautiful goddamn woman in all of Ferndale. Possibly all of Detroit. I was one lucky sonofabitch and I was on top of the world. Until” —another finger-point, another slosh— “she dropped my ass right in the dust. Hit me like a maglev train; I didn’t see it coming. Pretty much destroyed me.”

This was not really headed in a positive direction, Gavin thought. “Okay,” he said. “But you got over it?”

“No,” Fowler said, knocking back a long swig of the kerosene-smelling hooch. “ _Hell_ , no. See, _I_ knew she was the one for me, even though _she_ didn’t know it. Not yet. But what I was doing wasn’t what she wanted. I had to take a long, hard look at the Jeffrey Fowler I was showing to the world. It made me understand that unless I showed her different, _that guy_ was going to be the one she saw. The guy I already knew she didn’t want.”

“How could you be different, though?” Gavin asked, on the edge of tipping over into pissed-off confusion again.

Fowler grunted, twisting his lips like remembering it left a bad taste in his mouth.

Worse than the booze, so it _had_ to be serious.

“Realizing I was putting on an act in the first place. Rosi—I thought she deserved the biggest, baddest, ass-kickin’-est motherfucker around. You know: a real man’s man. Cool car, trash talking all the time, roughing up guys who checked her out.”

Even as miserable as he was, Gavin had to press his lips together tight to keep from snickering. There was no way in blue hell he could imagine buttoned-up, clean-shaven, by-the-book Fowler as some Corvette-driving punk with the sleeves ripped off his sweatshirts.

Well, _maybe_ he could see it a little better now that he’d had a peek at him off the clock.

“And,” Fowler went on, thumbing a drop of whiskey from under his lip, “I wasn’t just like that with her. I talked a big game around here, too. Clowning, trying to make the guys laugh, beating on suspects I didn’t have any reason to beat on.”

“Why?”

A shrug. “Thought that’s what cops did. Real ones, tough cops. They thought I was funny mostly. But guess who never got invited to drink after shift ended.”

Gavin looked down into his lap, focusing on a hangnail on the corner of his thumb. His ass throbbed and he was sweaty.

“Same deal with Rosi,” Fowler said on, deep in his story now. “Sure, she was flattered at first. Amused. But it got old real quick. But instead of trying to switch it up, I doubled down. And she wasn’t having _none_ of it.”

“What did you do?”

Another shrug. “All sorts of shit I thought was romantic: sending her flowers, doing the Romeo thing underneath her window.”

“The what thing?” Gavin asked.

Fowler sniffed. “Jesus Christ, kid. Get some culture. Anyway, it felt like beating my fists up against a brick wall until I just broke down and _asked_ her what kind of man she wanted. That threw her for enough of a loop that she stopped to think about it. Turned out she didn’t want no peacocking hardbody stud, which I had at least figured out. I’d seen it before. Guys like that, they get older, they get a little padding” —he patted his belly over the straining buttons— “and other guys start to pull ahead while they’re left in the dirt. Rosi wanted a man with a future. And one who wasn’t afraid to reach over to _her_ , show himself a little.”

All the different thoughts duking it out in Gavin’s head had quieted down a little while Fowler told his story, but they’d come screaming back, fighting for his attention. “That’s my problem,” he said. “I keep thinking if I reach out, I’m gonna get my hand bit off.”

Raising his head and looking over the rows of empty desks, Fowler nodded. “Yeah, that’s the chance you take, unfortunately. People are like oysters.” He raised a hand. “Hear me out: we all got that pearl inside, but there’s soft stuff all around it. Sometimes when you open up, somebody’s gonna poke the soft parts, just ‘cause they’re there.”

“That’s…” Gavin started.

“Profound?”

“Awful, actually.”

Fowler gave him a steely look for a second or two, then busted up laughing. “I know, I know. Some people are poets and some people are cops, and you can always tell which is which. Doesn’t mean there’s not truth to it, though. Sometimes, _you_ end up being the one poking at the soft bits on someone else, even if you don’t know it.”

“I don’t want to be that guy.”

“Nobody does. But you’re that guy until you learn. Sometimes you learn when you get your heart broke, when it’s too little too late.”

Gavin sniffled and scrubbed his sleeve hard under his nose. He really _did_ need a shave. “But I _like_ him.”

The hand was back on Gavin’s shoulder, and he could smell strong whiskey breath. “Wanna hear what happened with Rosario?”

_If he could go away so I can cry like a goddamn baby in peace, that’d be great_.

“I guess.”

“Well,” Fowler said, leaning back, “sometimes I think she made the wrong choice. Regardless, she ended up marrying me.”

Gavin looked up so fast he saw stars. “Huh? Really?”

“Yep. Asking what she wanted was the way in. Knowing what _I_ wanted sealed the deal. Mrs. Rosario Velez Fowler and I just had our thirtieth anniversary. Remember when I said it helped me out at work, too? Well, it did. I just did the same thing. Stopped showing off and started showing up. No more trying to make people laugh and distract them, no more smacking around suspects to prove I was tough. Just talking. When you open up to them, folks open up to you. Then they have your back, so even when you get hurt...well, it hurts less.”

The captain took a final gulp of the liquor, then screwed the cap back on the flask and stuffed it into his back pocket. “So, if you weren’t sleeping and were actually _thinking_ just now, might be a good thing.” He turned to go, but Gavin called after him.

“So I just ask what he wants?”

“That’s the first part,” Fowler said. “You gotta listen to the answer, too. If he wants what you want, he’ll do the same.” After a half-turn, he looked back one more time. “Oh, and flowers probably wouldn’t hurt, either.”

A tipsy-looking wink, and Fowler was out of sight.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh I am so stupid - I just posted this to the wrong story. Anyway! Fixed now.
> 
> Apologies for the raging italics. I don't usually abuse emphasis like that...

Gavin was pretty sure the night had gotten so weird he’d be running across a smoking caterpillar on a goddamn mushroom— _no more fucking rabbits_ , _thank you very much_ —if he stuck around the station any longer. He walked toward the door to the parking lot with his arms and legs heavy as sandbags, full of dread at the thought of feeling every bump in the road against his battered butt. The shocks on his piece of shit car were basically toast.

Once he got home, it was going to be a bag of frozen peas on each ass cheek and probably face-down in bed.

_Bawling._

So he was instantly on edge when he pulled up and saw what he recognized as Hank’s ride parked by the curb. The man himself was standing by the door, scrolling through something on his phone.

Gavin had been hoping to turn into a puff of dust, leaving his clothes and his gun on the sidewalk, but when Hank looked up at him there was real pain on his face.

“Was hoping we could talk,” he said, clicking the phone’s screen off. It left them both in that grayish light that comes just after sunset, when nothing looks as bad as it actually is.

“I guess,” Gavin said. “Want to come in?”

Hank heaved himself off where he was leaning against the brick. It was funny—he usually carried around all that _thickness_ like it was no problem, but right then he moved like he was kitted out in full riot gear.

After the day he’d had, Gavin could identify.

They walked into the dark entry hall, nothing but heavy breathing and the papery sounds of taking off jackets. There was nothing on earth worse than that quiet before you got down to hashing out _something serious_. Gavin flicked the light on and hoped someone had planted landmines in his living room. Getting blown into kabob-size chunks of detective actually sounded appealing compared to a heavy talk.

“You don’t have to, uh, sit down,” Hank told him. He was rubbing the place between his thumb and first finger and looked to have been doing it a while. The skin was red and chapped.

_Small comfort_.

Gavin nodded and stretched out along the couch, avoiding the side that’d gotten whacked particularly hard. The position felt awkward as fuck; he felt like Hank was about to whip out a sketchbook and start drawing him like a French girl. Still, it was a damn sight better than pain.

Hank settled into the armchair for a couple seconds, chin on his chest and still rubbing his hand raw. “I’m really sorry I freaked out. I shouldn’t have pushed you.” He shook his head. His hair could have used a wash. “Shouldn’t have hit you at all.”

The pain in his voice was twice as strong as his expression, and Gavin felt like a shitheel for the millionth time in the past forty-eight hours. “Nah. It was stupid,” he said. “ _I_ was stupid. Had something to prove, I guess. Just don’t know to _who_.”

“You don’t have to keep up with Connor,” Hank said. “Not that way. He’s...well, he’s like fucking Superman. Hell, he could probably turn off his nerves or whatever and make me go until I kill myself.”

Gavin laughed, but it didn’t have much energy behind it. “It crossed my mind.”

Hank pushed a hand through his greasy hair and shook his head again.

It was the most uncomfortable Gavin had ever seen him—except for maybe when he and Connor had invited him to Fuckfest Number One. Which hadn’t been that long ago, even. Just _felt_ like forever.

“I, uh...I like what we do,” said Hank. “When we meet. But, um, I don’t want to hurt you.” He must have seen the look Gavin shot his way, because he added, “I mean in a way you don’t like. It doesn’t have to just be me getting rough.”

“I thought you liked it.”

“I _do_ like it. I just said I do.” He didn’t sound frustrated, just kind of desperate.

It scared Gavin a little but he crushed the feeling down.

“I kept doing it because I figured you and Connor liked it,” said Hank. “That it was just our _thing_. Does he—are you two, you know, _rough_ when it’s just you?”

That one poked a little close to home. “Uh…” Gavin scratched his chin. He was dangerously close to lumberjack territory.

“Never mind,” Hank said. “Not my business.”

“No, no,” said Gavin. “That’s not it. I’m fine talking about that. Like, we were sometimes. Early on. But lately, since you joined up, he’s been more _soft_ , I guess.”

He caught the tiniest flash of... _something_ on Hank’s face. Something deeper and uglier than just being sorry. Might even have been helplessness, and that scared the everliving piss out of Gavin. His voice was pathetic and small when he asked, “Did you, um, ever want to do that, too?”

Hank pulled in a big breath and sat back. “Sometimes. Yeah, sometimes I do. LIke I said, I just kept doing the rough stuff because I thought you guys wanted it that way. I’m the one who came into the middle of this. Guess I’m kinda feeling like it’s not my place to say how things go.”

“Ah, _fuck_.” Gavin scrubbed the heel of his hand over his face. “I feel like shit. The whole point—at least I _think_ the point—of asking you in was so you could have something you wanted, too. It’s just, well, everything was going so good, and then it _wasn’t_.”

“You mean today?”

“No. Me and Connor, we kind of had a fight.” He looked up and added, super quick: “It wasn’t over you. He said I was shitty with feelings. Because I’m afraid. And he’s right. Only the more I try to figure out how to be better with feelings and be less scared, the worse it gets.”

“Oh,” Hank said softly. “That’s what the ‘being brave’ thing was about? I mean, earlier.”

“Yeah.” Gavin sighed. “Dumb thing to do. Not like Connor would ever know, right?”

Hank let out a laugh of his own. It was just as dry. “Well, this is a complete charlie foxtrot. Does Connor even know you meet up with me sometimes at work?”

“Yeah, yeah. I think he’s cool with it. He’s never said...oh _shit. Fuck me_.”

Hank sat forward, looking keyed-up and nervous all over again. “What?”

“Somehow I got talking with Fowler tonight. About this.” Another spike of panic; Gavin could feel it go between him and Hank like lightning. He held up a hand. “He doesn’t know about Connor. That I was talking about him. Or about you. He just told me this story about almost fucking up his whole life because he kept trying to be someone he thought everybody wanted. Instead of, you know, _asking_ them. So then just now, I was like…”

“Yeah,” Hank said, blinking like somebody had flicked on a spotlight, “you were doing the same goddamn thing. We _both_ were.” This time, his laugh was a little lighter. “Funny how this shit comes back to you. I _remember_ Fowler back in his dickhead days. He was a couple years ahead of me—and, you know, everybody’s cocky when they start—but after a while, he mellowed out real quick.” Hank snapped his fingers. “Like that.”

Knocking his forehead lightly against the arm of the sofa, Gavin said, “Fuck, I feel dumb. Well, _felt_ dumb.”

“Had an epiphany, huh?” asked Hank.

Gavin frowned. “That only happens when I eat spicy stuff.”

Hank squinted and leaned forward in the chair.  “You’re fucking with me...right?”

Giving in to what seemed like his first real smile in a year felt as good as a cat stretching out in a sunbeam. “ _Totally_ fucking with you,” Gavin said.

Hank’s real, startled laugh was almost as satisfying. He poked a finger toward Gavin. “See, you’re _not_ dumb.” He followed it up with a gap-toothed smile, really shy-looking. And _sweet_. No bullshit, no caution—just genuine like a goddamn gold nugget.

Any more of that and Gavin would be scraping his heart off the floor with a spatula. He blinked back the tears that cropped up.

“Can I come sit next to you?” Hank asked.

“For sure.”

He grinned. “See, I brought a little miracle in a jar.” Hank wrestled a tin out of his pocket and held it up. “This’ll help with the sting a little. Uh, good for bruises, too.”

“Thanks,” Gavin said, feeling suddenly shy.

“I could put it on if you want,” Hank told him. “Make sure everything’s covered.”

“Um...yeah. Okay.” If Gavin could be glad for anything that night, it was the fact that Hank didn’t make a noise or say a goddamn thing as Gavin eased down his jeans and boxer briefs. The air felt amazing on his brutalized butt.

Whatever Hank had brought felt even better—dabbed on with gentle fingers then rubbed in slow and careful. The throb eased up to an ache, faded to background noise.

“That’s amazing,” Gavin said. He got up to ditch the pants altogether. It was nothing Hank hadn’t seen, anyway.

Hank flopped right down on the couch, almost putting him off balance. “C’mere,” he said, patting his chest. “Lay right here.”

“Uh—”

“I promise you’re not gonna crush me, kid,” said Hank. “I’m pretty sturdy.”

Getting positioned right to go chest-to-chest involved a knee between Hank’s thighs. It was awkward, but once Gavin was able to settle down, put his cheek on Hank’s shoulder, and rest his forehead against the wiry scruff of his beard, things felt pretty amazing. Hank put off heat like crazy, and it was nice to feel his chest and belly moving up and down as he breathed. By far the nicest part was the gentle stroking of two big hands: one tracing the small of his back and the other lightly scratching through his hair. Gavin chuckled a little as he moved along with Hank’s breath, drunk on the affection.

The raw sting on his ass had dialed down to a tingle. Somehow the contrast between his front smashed against that warm barrel chest and the cool air on his backside was totally perfect. He sighed, ruffling the grayish curls of chest hair between Hank’s shirt buttons.

“That feel good, baby?” Hank asked.

“Mm. Yeah.”

“Good.” He planted a warm kiss at Gavin’s hairline. After a second, he said, “Funny that Connor brought up negotiations and boundaries and stuff that first time. ‘Cause I gotta say...” he trailed off.

“Say what?”

“Well, he doesn’t seem to be real good at talking, either.”

It shocked Gavin to hear...but mostly because it was spot-on. Connor had dragged _him_ for acting like an asshole, but he hadn’t exactly been crystal clear about what _he_ wanted, either. Remembering how uncomfortable he’d felt in the diner when Connor had said _I don’t know_ , it kind of made sense.

“Huh,” Gavin said. The puff of air fluttered Hank’s chest hair again. “Yeah. I mean, when we were fighting or whatever, he said he noticed I always liked it when you were soft with him—and with me—in between the rough shit. But he never said he _wanted_ it.”

“I got that feeling, too,” Hank said. “I mean, we meet up sometimes at work, too, and he’s never said a thing.”

Hank must have felt Gavin’s muscles tense up, even though Gavin had tried not to react. “That make you jealous?” he asked. He sounded concerned, though, not snippy.

Gavin breathed out and made himself relax again. “It did for a second, yeah. Kind of stupid, huh? He knows about you and me.” The huge hand on Gavin’s back stopped stroking and pulled him close.

“Not stupid,” Hank whispered. “But maybe that’s something we should all talk about, too.”

“Probably.” Did Gavin want to ask what they did when he wasn’t around? _Fuck it_. _Might as well get it out in the open._

Hank pulled him in tighter. “He likes it rough, too. At least, I thought he did. Usually it’s him on his knees in an interview room. Real messy throat-fucking shit. Stuff that would kill somebody who actually needs to breathe.”

It made Gavin feel a little better that Connor had done the same for him, and that he’d gotten to watch him do it for Hank. He was relieved...and slightly turned on. His cock was so predictable he should probably have _Spoiler Alert_ tattooed over it, but hey...

Hank wasn’t going to care if he popped a half-chub. After all, seeing Connor swallow cock like a circus performer could raise a dead guy’s dick.

“Thing is,” Hank went on, “as much as he likes that, he’ll stay down there till I get soft, making those cute little noises while I’m petting his hair.”

“Shit,” Gavin said. “Maybe he thinks he could only go right for the soft shit with _me_.”

Hank’s chuckle came up from deep in his chest. “Am I that intimidating?”

“Uh...yes?”

Luckily, that got a laugh. “I guess we gotta remember: even though Connor’s smart, he’s new to all this stuff.”

“Sex rookie,” Gavin said, then giggled.

“Hell,” said Hank, “ _life_ rookie.”

“Yeah. Damn.” It had been one revelation-heavy day, and to be honest Gavin was getting exhausted. He settled in again, wrapping his arms around Hank’s middle as far as they would go. “Maybe next time you meet up,” he said, “you could flip the script.”

“I think you two should talk things out first. But yeah, it’s an idea.”

Neither one of them spoke for a minute or two. Gavin felt fine conking out with his semi on top of the world’s sexiest mattress.

Then Hank piped up, running his fingers over the baby hairs behind Gavin’s ear. “Ya know, Gav, I gotta say: about two months ago, I would never in a million years imagine I’d end up here, doing this.”

“With me,” Gavin said.

A shrug. Hank’s body rippled a little. “Honestly, yeah. No offense.”

“Well, same. So none taken. I kind of thought being all competitive and hating you kept me sharp.”

“Heh. I thought you were a weaselly little prick,” said Hank.

Gavin raised his head and planted his chin on top of one big pec. “But it’s way easier _not_ hating you.”

“It is. Guess I coulda given you the benefit of the doubt after Fowler turned out okay.” Hank dug a fingertip between two of Gavin’s ribs, making him squeak. “But he’s not my type.”

He might get bucked off if he tickled back, but Gavin figured damn the consequences. He poked one knuckle into Hank’s side.

Hank only grabbed his wrist and growled, and sweet fancy _fuck_ it was sexy. Half-mast was very quickly coming to full attention.

Trying to yank his arm free, Gavin laughed and asked, “What’s your type? Half your age?”

“You’re not half my age, you little shit.” With a grin, Hank patted Gavin’s bruised butt _very softly_. “I meant Fowler’s married. And crazy about his wife, too.”

“You ever see her?” Gavin asked him.

“Oh, sure. She’s fucking gorgeous. Probably too good for the Cap, to be honest. _Definitely_ too good for me.”

Gavin settled down a little bit, tracing the little notch between Hank’s collarbones. “So you deserve weaselly little pricks, is that it?”

Shaking his head, Hank mirrored Gavin’s shit-eating grin. “You know I don’t think that anymore. I think you’re funny. And _dirty_.” He went to poke the tip of Gavin’s nose with one fingertip, but Gavin dodged and licked it, making Hank raise his eyebrows.

“And…? Gavin asked.

“No way.”

“Come on, you jackass. Say it.”

Hank rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. _And a hot piece_.” He ruffled Gavin’s hair, but then ran a thumb over his cheekbone. “Think we could do a little kissing now?”

He sounded so shy and worried that Gavin felt something squeezing inside his chest, big and strong as one of Hank’s hands. Short of breath, he still managed, “If you call me ‘Gav’ again.”

“Gav,” Hank said with a lazy smile. “Kiss me, huh?”

He did, and it was amazing. The hand around his heart was still squeezing away, but after a few seconds it wasn’t painful. Just kind of felt like being held from the inside—the same snug and warm way as the arms wrapped around him.

Gavin was about at the point where brain function went bye-bye, but while he was still trying to stop himself from furiously dry-humping Hank’s hip, he had to kind of marvel again at how fucking odd it all seemed. Only a few months back, the thought of shaking hands with Hank Anderson was enough to bring on a case of the dry heaves. Then one wild rumor set his curiosity going, and the whole thing snowballed: watching Connor get fucked silly by one very real monster dong, then Gavin going from congratulating himself for jumping on that dick to doing it every other week like it was no problem. Sneaking around in the station and begging for an ass-beating he could jerk off to for a week...and now swapping sweet and lazy kisses with Hank, making little _fuck-yeah_ noises into his mouth and diving deep for more.

Hank was clutching at his back, avoiding the ass for the most part, except to slide a sneaky finger at the tippy-top of Gavin’s crack. Probably just to tease.

And sure, he was hard and good to go whenever, but most of him didn’t really care if he got fucked or not. The huggy-kissy-pet-name shit was doing most of the turning on. As if that wasn’t nutty enough, Gavin didn’t feel guilty putting his toe in the fluffy end of the pool with Hank first. It made him feel more _ready_ to be with Connor next time they got the chance.

As for right then...Gavin whined and clenched his ass, mashing his hard-on against Hank’s hipbone. It wasn’t a hundred percent comfortable—his cock was pushing into the waistband of Hank’s jeans. Only _now_ feeling the leather of the belt against his skin was making him randy as all get-out. Swear to Christ, science would figure out the mysteries of the universe before Gavin puzzled out his own goddamn dick.

“You wanna…?” he prompted after he finished sucking hard on Hank’s bottom lip.

Hank put his hands on either side of Gavin’s face and kissed his chin. “I wanna, yeah. But I think you should get some sleep. Hold off until shit’s sorted out with Connor. Okay?”

Gavin huffed. “Prob’ly.” He still hummed and wiggled into that gigantic palm on his butt cheek, though.

“Your ass needs a break before I bust it again,” Hank said. He scratched his chin. “Hm. Got this way old-fashioned wooden ruler at home. Wouldn’t look _too_ funny sitting on my desk…”

Oh, lord _almighty_. Gavin’s head felt light and wobbly as a helium balloon. Put him over a table and spank him with a ruler like some twink in an antique porn vid and he’d probably nut from that by itself. “Jesus fuck,” he groaned. “Stop. You’re gonna make me come on your shirt.”

“So that’s a yes, I think,” Hank said.

“You think right.”

Grinning, Hank snuck another kiss. “Good. Can’t wait. But right now, you’re going to bed.”

Gavin flopped his limbs with an exaggerated sigh. “Gah. Okay, _Dad._ ” He took a short, squeaky little breath when Hank grabbed a handful of his hair—not painful, but _certainly_ not leaving room for debate.

Soft lips and wiry scruff were up against his ear.

“That’s _Daddy_ to you, boy.”

Whining like a rusty hinge, Gavin actually _felt_ his cock leak a little onto the skin of Hank’s belly below his scrunched-up shirt. “ _Fuuuck_ …”

Hank’s chuckle was straight-up evil. He knew _just_ what he was doing. “That’s all you get tonight, short stuff. Make nice with Connor. We’ve got plenty of time.”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Can you make it to the bed or do I need to carry you?”

With a glare, Gavin started to peel himself away from Hank. “I’m horny, not helpless.” Glancing with longing at his own straining cock, he was pleased to look past it and see Hank was hard behind the fly of his jeans. It took a few seconds of fighting in his mind, but he decided not to push the issue—or his luck—any further. He got to his feet, feeling the rest of his energy draining out as he did.

Hank helped him sway and stumble his way to the bedroom, good and ready to conk out but still rock-hard.

Gavin almost let himself thump backward onto the mattress until he remembered his thoroughly fucked-up ass and climbed in carefully instead.

With a sweet little hum, Hank tugged the sheet up over him.

Even though he struggled to keep his eyes open, Gavin mumbled, “Mm. Can I touch myself tonight?”

“Pfft.” Hank patted his cheek. “I’m not a twenty-four-seven type. Don’t care what you do with your dick on your own time.”

Gavin managed a pout. “Meanie.”

Rolling his eyes, Hank said, “Very mature.” He started to head out, but then turned back with a wicked jack-o-lantern grin. “You come tonight and I’ll thrash your hot little ass raw with my ruler, boy.”

His wink was _far_ sleazier than Fowler’s had been.

With a pleased shiver, Gavin pulled his hand off his dick right away. He let out a long sigh when he heard the front door close, then squeezed his eyes shut and tried to give in to sleep.

 

...But if anyone happened to guess that he drifted off _before_ putting his cock in a chokehold for two pumps and falling asleep with a handful of spunk, they would be _dead wrong_.

 

**

 

Gavin _never_ got up early, but the following morning he was up with the motherfucking birdies, shelling out a hundred bucks for a huge, embarrassing bouquet of flowers. Oh, he wasn’t going to bring them in himself; he’d have them offloaded right on Connor’s desk. To be honest, he was hoping the curiosity and embarrassment would pluck Connor out of his little snit.

First off, of course, because he [ _insert word or words Gavin was not yet ready to say_ ] Connor and wanted him back. Plus, if he lost out on the chance for a boner-inducing butt-beating from School Principal Hank because of this mess, he’d never forgive himself.

Or, rather, his dick would never forgive the rest of him.

Operation Win Back Robo-Boyfriend had Gavin mainlining coffee like a wrestler shooting juice. Only once that morning (after sucking down his third half-liter) did it occur to him maybe the amount of java he put down on the daily wasn’t totally healthy. Well, it wasn’t _steroids_ bad, hopefully. Then again, he _was_ hairy and angry, so…?

At least his nutsack hadn’t shrunk.

By 0815 he was sipping on liter two-point-five, feet up on his desktop. When he saw Connor walk in, he blocked his face with a datapad, his grip on it wiggling with jumpy anticipation.

Of fucking course, the flower delivery person was late. Actually, the flower-delivery _android_ , ‘cause Gavin had seen the girl’s model before. She strolled right in at 1030 hours. He tried not to catch her eye and stare her down. Either traffic had been bad or Motor City Blooms had a secret deviant on their hands.

What did naughty androids do instead of their jobs? Not like they could get high or drunk.

_Never mind, he_ knew _what naughty androids did_.

Gavin adjusted his half-stiffy and tried not to turn around and watch Connor’s reaction. The huge bouquet got rumblings started among the detectives still at their desks—little bits of conversation, a couple laughs. Somebody whistled.

There was no way Connor wasn’t at least kind of freaked. _Nobody_ sends a machine flowers.

Gavin wanted his name left off the little holocard, but it would be clear to Connor who’d sent them. The message read:

 

_I’m sorry for real._

_Let’s talk._

_I might act like an asshole but I want to be_ your _asshole._

 

Actually, that sounded kinda... _never mind. Too late now._

The voices behind him ramped up and there was more giggling. Gavin finally let himself slide his heels off the desk and turn around. Connor was walking toward the break room with short, quick little steps, his head down. The guys were pointing at the flowers and yammering.

“Looks like plastic boy’s got himself a secret admirer,” Miller said. “Y’all wanna take bets on who?”

“Chen,” Gavin offered, grinning. He tapped his stylus against his teeth.

Collins sat back in his chair. “Tina Chen never got nobody flowers and never will,” he said.

But Miller piped up again. “Wait. If you think about it, it kind of makes sense. Chen’s too scary for any regular guy to try and fuck her.”

“Oh sure,” Gavin said, laying it on thick. “Could be she’s dying for a poke but nobody’s ballsy enough. Gotta chase down the one guy you can’t break in half. Am I right?”

A chorus of _Ohhh_ went up, Miller and Collins slapping their desks or knees.

Gavin only grinned wider. _Enjoy that rumor, Tina._ God almighty, he felt truly sorry for the guy who ended up asking her about it.

All of his glee died down, though, as a couple hours went by and Connor hadn’t said thing one. Maybe he’d fucked up: maybe Connor was embarrassed in the bad way—now he wasn’t only going to give Gavin the brush-off but was planning ways make him suffer.

Finally, a message popped up on Gavin’s console screen: _I do want to talk. May I come to your house this evening?_

His heart doing a little flip-flop, Gavin sent back: _totally anytime._

Connor’s next line of text was just his name. _Gavin_.

_yeah?_

_I owe you an apology, too._

Gavin’s answer was all _nah babe_ but his brain was doing an internal victory dance. He floated on a cloud for the rest of the afternoon, held up by Hank’s advice and the (mostly) non-dirty evening they’d spent together.

_He could get close! Take it slow! This was serious goddamn progress!_

He swore to himself he wouldn’t get pissy, or would at least try to slap down the little devil on his shoulder telling him to _make it worse because that’s funny_. Gavin was determined to try, in Captain Fowler’s words, not to poke the soft parts.

And, well, if they made nice and Connor was up for some soft-part-poking, Gavin had already decided to be noble and offer to let Connor (tenderly?) slam him into the mattress. Not like getting jackhammered on that Laboratory Tested Perfect Cock was any sort of consolation prize.

Back at his place that evening, Gavin was as nervous as he had been the first time Connor stopped by. There was a teensy part of him that was wishing he could just have the no-strings dynamic back, but people didn’t really work that way. And neither did androids, he guessed.

Since the heart-to-heart with Hank ended so well—

_bring on the ruler, Daddy; baby’s been bad_

—there was no reason to think he couldn’t connect with Connor, too. So why did the stakes feel so damn high? Honestly Gavin could have gone down any one of a number of rabbit holes in his mind with that one—Connor’s so perfect, having a super-strong death machine mad at him was scary, admitting he was having feelings that he’d never had for any guy before was even _more_ scary…

But luckily his doorbell rang.

Even though his head was down and he was looking at Gavin like he was about to announce he’d killed his dog, Connor was still...well, _breathtaking_. A big lock of that shiny hair was hanging down over his forehead, curling just a little at the tip. His eyes were huge and soft and kind of wet-looking. When he bit his lip, showing a tiny flash of white tooth, it made Gavin want to apologize for existing.

When the shock passed, though, he was determined to keep it even-keel: no groveling, but no getting high-and-mighty, either. Total override of the Gavin Reed Default Factory Settings.

Huh, maybe he was a little programmed, too—by practice, like Fowler had said. Only he’d been practicing being a world-class twat so long it was second nature.

“Hey, you,” Gavin said, stepping to one side and letting Connor come in. The day had been warm for once, and it kept a lot of the heat as it slid toward sunset. The wind that followed Connor in smelled wet like the river.

“Hey,” said Connor. Putting on this goofy, sheepish smile, he held out the thing he’d been hiding behind his back. It was a decent-sized box, the wrapping job so precise it could have been done by...well, it _was_ done by a machine.

Gavin was glad he’d gone with flowers; on the rare occasions he gave presents, he chucked them in garbage bags, only bothering to slap a ribbon on for the people who sucked the least.

“Thank you for the flowers,” Connor said. “They’re beautiful.” Still giving that sexy-bashful look.

If his dick decided to chime in, Gavin was going to slap the fucking thing into next week. “Uh, you’re welcome. Glad you could tell they were from me.” Dumbass thing to say, but the word-making machine in his head was already on the fritz from staring at those melty-chocolate eyes.

Tilting his head, Connor said, “I didn’t think flowers were your style, so I got you this.”

Gavin took the box, fighting the urge to shake it. He ended up damn proud of himself for putting off the even stronger urge to rip the paper off, instead putting it aside on the countertop. “I’ll open it later,” he said. “I kind of just want a hug right now. Is that okay?”

Connor nodded.

Gavin wasn’t sure if androids could get choked up, but he sure was doing a good job of acting like it. Before he set off bawling or something, he threw himself against Connor and wrapped his arms tight around his waist, smashing his face against the collar of his shirt. The point of Connor’s jaw rested against Gavin’s forehead, but the hairless skin there was soft. Everything about holding him—the nothing-smell, the not-breathing—it was all familiar. Comforting now, when even a couple of months ago it would have been fucking weird.

Connor kissed the top ridge of Gavin’s ear. In a quiet voice, he said, “I missed you.”

Whatever mumbled garbage came out of Gavin’s mouth, which was currently smooshed against Connor’s neck, it was meant to sound like _Missed you, too_.

“Do you want to go sit down?” Connor asked. His chest actually moved as he gave a little chuckle. “I promise I won’t make you sit on my dick.”

Gavin snorted a humiliating laugh, but right then he was in fuck-it mode. “ _Yet_ ,” he said.

Connor only laughed.

They started out side-by-side on the couch, but Gavin tipped over and pulled Connor with him until they were crunched together along the cushions, Connor’s head pillowed on Gavin’s shoulder and his arm draped across his body.

Gavin felt the little vibrations as Connor scratched at something on one of the cushions.

He raised his hand, frowning at something flaky under his perfect fingernail. “Is that…?” He started to bring the finger toward his mouth.

“Nuh-uh.” Gavin grabbed Connor’s wrist and lay the hand down on his chest. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s probably worse. I need a new couch _bad_.”

“I can help you shop for one if you like,” Connor said. “To tell the truth, I should probably offer to cover half the cost of a new one.”

“A third,” Gavin said. “There’s some _eau de Hank_ on this bastard for sure.”

Connor lowered his eyes. “Do you think it was the right decision to bring Hank into this relationship?”

It wasn’t a softball, but it wasn’t the hardest question Gavin expected, either. “Yeah,” he said. “I kind of do. Even if I didn’t know I wanted what he brought to the table till I had it. You know?”

“Yes,” Connor told him. “Though I do believe he can bring more. He is still afraid to be completely authentic with us.”

“I know,” Gavin said. “We kind of talked the other day.”

At that, Connor looked up. “I spoke to Hank, as well. Today. Right after the flowers were delivered. That was why I didn’t immediately respond. I’m sorry if that made you anxious.”

“Nah,” said Gavin. But then he remembered he was supposed to be open. _Vulnerable_. “Well, it did for a little while. But it didn’t really seem fair to not give you time to think. I just figured—I mean, well, I was _scared_ —you thought the flowers were embarrassing and you were pissed off.”

“No,” Connor said. “I apologize. That wasn’t my intention at all. I am, at least so far, the only android I know who has received flowers from anyone—android or human. I felt... _special_.”

Gavin went all tense again, even though he tried not to.

_Say it, you fucking weenie! Just spit it out!_

“Uh, I mean, you _are_ .” He took a deep breath. “Not just, you know, in the ‘really good at everything’ way, but you...but I _like_ you better than just about anybody. Even me.”

Connor’s soft smile made something in Gavin’s chest fill up like a balloon. He pulled his wrist gently away and grabbed Gavin’s hand instead, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss the first knuckle. “Thank you, Gavin.” Then he grinned wickedly, Gavin’s knuckle slipping past his soft lips to bump his teeth. “You’re my favorite...of all the assholes I know.”

Almost doubled up laughing, Gavin moved his hand and pinched Connor’s nose, giving his head a little shake. “Oh, piss off.”

Snickering, Connor drew the hand away again, but not before gently nibbling one of Gavin’s fingertips. “Seriously, though,” he said. “I _am_ sorry. I behaved badly, and I didn’t even know I was doing it.”

Gavin sighed. “Okay, you’ve apologized three times now and I haven’t had a chance. I’m sorry, too, Con. Guess you probably figured out I get mad if I’m really afraid, or guilty, or whatever.”

Connor’s sigh sounded almost the same. “Yes, but my processor enumerated other motivations for your behavior and your words. Approximately seventeen thousand of them, in fact. I couldn’t help it.”

“Whoa, damn!” Gavin tucked his chin in toward his chest, staring down at Connor. “I’m way easier to figure out. I promise.”

“Yes, that’s what Hank told me,” Connor said. “He said I should ‘trust my gut.’ It’s a human expression, but I know what it means. At first, I’ll admit I was defensive. I _am_ a machine, after all: analytics and data parsing make up a significant portion of my functionality. But…”

One side of his mouth curling upward, Gavin flipped that stray lock of hair off Connor’s forehead. “But not all of it, huh?”

“No.” Connor sounded bummed about it, and also a little relieved. “I was created to transcend my programming. Otherwise, I would merely be...computational. Interpersonal relationships have many more variables than do calculations. Sometimes neither side of the equation is adequately defined. Sometimes there are multiple sides, none of which equal the others!”

Gavin put his hand gently over Connor’s mouth before he could yammer himself off into math geek land. Nothing killed a boner faster than technical shit. Not that he really had a _boner_ —at least not one in his dick. It was more like _inside him_ , but also not like a dick…?

A feelings hard-on.

It sounded hella stupid, but it actually helped Gavin understand things better. If caring a lot about somebody was really just being... _emotionally horny_...well, he could deal with that.

“I know, babe,” he said. “Feelings are hard.”

Connor slumped onto Gavin’s chest. “Yes. That.” After a few seconds of running one white fingertip around Gavin’s stretched-out shirt collar, he said, “I want you to know that I wasn’t trying to be gentle with you only as a contrast to our nights with Hank. Somehow it felt _right_ , even though I can’t explain why. Not yet. There appears to have been a shift in the way I react to you. Or, more accurately, a shift in the way I react to our being together.”

Panic crept up Gavin’s throat, hot and tingly, but he pushed it down. “Like...in a good way or a bad way?”

“Oh, _good_ ,” Connor said at once.

That helped keep the fizz of an incoming freakout under control.

“It’s just that it seems much _larger_ now,” he went on. “And while it’s exciting...it’s also frightening.”

When Connor looked up at Gavin, he had that same half-eager, half-pleading puppy dog face on, but it wasn’t cutesy or flirty. What it looked like was more along the lines of _I could kill you with my bare hands but please don’t hurt me_.

All of a sudden, Gavin got that same chest-squeezing feeling he’d had with Hank. One or two seconds later, he finally ID’d where he’d felt it before. Way the fuck back when, during that case with the girl whose android boyfriend iced her father. Damn, what was her name?

_Jessica_.

It was the first case he’d been on with Connor. Gavin had really wanted to roll his eyes at Jessica and how head-over-heels she was for that shuffling, mumbly blond android. He would have pegged the android ( _Sebastian?_ ) as a pussy-whipped pansy, but the look on his face had been awful. Especially when they dragged the girl away. Like his whole world got blown up right in front of him.

Shit, Gavin had even ended up feeling sorry for the brothel owner with the murdered android sex worker. He’d tried to come off like a hardass while the guy was blubbering, but instead he’d felt that big hand around his heart and lungs, just clenching away.

Now that he’d felt the same way about bad things _and_ good things, he could understand what Connor was saying.

There wasn’t that much of a difference between _awesome_ and _pants-shitting horror_. Not that Connor could even shit, but it was the idea that counted.

“Hey,” Gavin said, hating the shaking in his own voice. “I’m not going to hurt you if I can help it.” He swallowed hard. “Um, unless you ask me to.” He capped it off with a lame little giggle. Oh, well—fuck it. At least the words were getting out.

The fact that Connor seemed to appreciate it was a big load off Gavin’s mind.

“Yes,” he said, the smile on his face getting bigger. “When we’re together, it doesn’t always need to be rough. Or always gentle. Or even sex at all.”

Gavin tensed up.

_No no no you fuckhead shut your big-ass mouth…_

“Right,” he said, trying for super-cheery. “Absolutely.”

While Gavin was wondering if Connor was going to try to wedge Hank into the discussion—opening a whole new can of emotional worms—he felt a firm, warm hand slide right up under his t-shirt.

“But I’ve missed that kind of closeness,” Connor said. He’d put on the Sex Voice, which was guaranteed to get the motor running. Nimble, teasing little fingers walked up the swell of Gavin’s right pec and gave his nipple a nasty-nice tweak.

It seemed like his chest had gotten more sensitive over his time with Connor. Shit—these days he lit up neon like a dive bar window at the drop of a hat. Gavin remembered it taking a lot more before. But that was his whole life: divided up into _Before_ and _After Connor_. Now he knew that _Without Connor_ sucked just as much as _Before_.

Wait, scratch that: it sucked even _more._

“Me, too,” Gavin said, his mouth starting to water. He bent his back and pushed up off the couch cushion into Connor’s touch. The reward for that was a brief, sharp twist of the other nipple that made him bite his lip and try not to moan.

Already, his dick was going full Dracula on the blood in his system. His head felt floaty and a grayish haze filled the corners of his vision and clouded out Connor’s face. In a second or two it was back: sharp and close and gorgeous, coming in for a kiss that was hot and dirty as a barbecue grill.

“Fuck.” Gavin dragged out the word, right against Connor’s mouth. “I missed that.”

“I did, too. Would you like to get as close as possible?”

“Hell, yeah.”

_Folks, it was begging time._

Gavin bumped it up to a full-on grovel. “Want you inside me,” he whined. “ _Please_. Don’t ask if I’m sure. I am.”

“Good,” Connor purred. He attacked the button of Gavin’s jeans with super-quick fingers, unfastening them and then yanking them away—boxers and all.

Gavin was so sensitive he whimpered when his cock slapped down against his belly, leaving a smear of wetness.

Connor licked his lips. “I want to try something.”

“Yeah. Anything. Do it.”

Using one wildly talented hand to get his own pants out of the way, Connor dragged the fingernails of the other down Gavin’s chest, leaving long pink stripes. They were perfectly spaced.

Gavin’s dick jumped like it was on a string. Fuck, _all of him_ was; Connor could pull him around wherever he wanted and Gavin would go like a dog, leaking and drooling the whole way. He was punch-drunk on this guy—his stupid sexy mouth saying things Gavin hadn’t heard in a long, long time. Maybe ever.

Even though he was crazy horny, his eyes still welled up and one tear managed to slide out along his left temple before he could stop it. He went to smash the evidence into the cushion but Connor caught his chin and smiled, brushing the tear away with his thumb and planting a kiss right on the tip of Gavin’s nose.

“Hold onto me,” Connor told him. “Wrap your legs around my waist. Don’t let go.”

Gavin hiccuped. “Not letting go.” With his thighs pressed hard against sharp hip bones and his arms tight around Connor’s neck, Gavin felt him push upward off the couch like he didn’t have just under seventy-five kilograms of whimpering detective clinging onto him koala-style. Even for a big dude like Hank, who _could_ lift him, it would have felt like effort, but Connor moved as if Gavin weighed nothing. And he was holding on with the old iron grip...the one that felt safe right then instead of frustrating.

Once they got over to the wall, Gavin’s heart started hammering as Connor pressed him up against the cool, painted surface.

He slung one arm under Gavin’s bare ass while the other disappeared for a few seconds.

But— _oh, fuck_ —when it came back, the fingers were slippery and warm and ready to go spelunking. Gavin might have snickered thinking about Connor as a walking, talking, over-designed lube warmer...only two slick fingers were pushing inside him and the time for thinking _anything_ was way past gone.

He bore down against the hand, shimmying until he felt knuckles and the soft press of a palm on his balls. Connor could probably hold him up just like that—perched on the single hand with two fingers jammed in his ass like a slutty puppet.

He didn’t go that far, thankfully, but the treacherous bastard smiled and started to raise and lower the arm under Gavin’s thighs. It was a fuck-you move: hoisting Gavin’s entire weight to sink him onto those fingers.

“Show-off,” Gavin managed, his voice all pinched.

“Yeah?” Connor asked in a teasing tone. “Wait till you’re sitting on my cock, honey. I can hold you up here as long as I want. Until your legs shake and give out. I could stand here like this and fuck you all night. Until you’re begging to come. _Until you’re begging me not to make you come again_.”

Gavin sucked in a breath so fast it sounded like someone tugging a zipper. His cock twitched violently, tapping Connor’s chest and leaving a wet smear on his tie.

_Christ_ — _had he gotten dirty talk pointers after that heart-to-heart with Hank?_

“Yeah,” Gavin wheezed. “I want that.”

“What do you want?” asked Connor. “Tell me. I want to hear everything. Every filthy fantasy you have.”

There came the blush like a goddamn flash grenade, but Gavin decided not to care. He usually hated getting called on to talk—that went all the way back to his school days when his teachers would tap their feet and glare as he tried to figure out why some of the markings on the holoprojection were backwards and upside down. But since it was sex and not algebra, somehow the humiliation made it _better_. If Connor could let loose with the slut-bot talk and not feel like a fool, then dammit, so could Gavin.

He groaned and pushed back against the fingers, which weren’t even _close_ to enough. “Want...I want you to keep fucking me,” he said. “Want you to come ten times and not even touch me until—till my, my _ass_ is dripping with come and running down your legs and all over the floor. Then, uh, make me lick it up— _yeah_ —while you fuck me again. I’m gonna come as soon as you touch my cock—harder than I ever have in my life. Just...stay inside me. Tell me I’m good. Say, um—tell me you _need me_.”

Then he was shouting right in Connor’s ear because Connor had slid his fingers out and slipped his incredible cock right in, pulling Gavin close so he could feel the points of both hips against his ass.

Connor pushed his face into the crook of Gavin’s neck and made some kind of noise. It sounded helpless and almost sad until he spoke: “I _need_ you, Gavin. I do.”

Gavin was too shocked to burst out crying, but it was a good shock, the kind that made him want to hold on harder. He’d been _such_ a moron before, not simply shutting up and being happy to sit forever on the most perfect dick in existence.

Never again—he’d stroll right into the precinct pants-down and stuffed full, with Connor on his heels, and declare the motherfucker his new desk chair.

Connor looked up, nothing on his face but this gooey-eyed sort of _hope_ , and said, “You make me feel.”

Feel what? _Didn’t matter._

Gavin pitched forward as much as he could, smashing his mouth into Connor’s so hard their teeth clicked.

Like he always did—like the first time—Connor went right into the kiss. It was aggressive and sloppy and totally perfect. At the same time, he started moving Gavin up and down along almost his entire length.

Gavin heard _I need you_ inside his head and came right then without a single finger touching his cock. If Connor was never able to wear that shirt or tie again, it’d be a point of pride.

Straight, fence-picket teeth nipped Gavin’s bottom lip.

“Do you want me to keep going?” asked Connor.

“Uh-uh. Want you to come. Wanna see your face.”

That was the same as the first time Connor had fucked him, too. It had taken Gavin this long to figure out he’d fallen hard all the way back then, and his dummy brain was only catching up.

For once, his dick had actually called it.

Said dick gave a half-hearted twitch-and-dribble as Connor squeezed his eyes shut and let go. His endless orgasm came with a string of words: _yes_ and a couple of _fucks_ , but mostly Gavin’s name.

It was the best thing Gavin had ever heard.

When Connor finally stopped pumping out that magic, shimmery android jizz, he stood for a little bit, resting his head against Gavin’s shoulder as Gavin stroked his hair.

“Couch,” Gavin told him, wrung out. “You can stay inside me if you want.”

“But what if I’d like you to fuck me next?” Connor asked.

“I can arrange that. Just give me a few minutes to catch up, Mister Twenty-Four-Seven Boner.”

In his silkiest, milk-chocolate tone, Connor said, “Let me help you catch up. What do you need, baby?”

_Time to bite the bullet. No going back._

“Uh, maybe...hold me?”

The confession earned a grin. “I’d like that very much.” Connor eased out and let Gavin slide to the floor on unsteady feet.

Forgetting entirely that Connor hadn’t seen his busted-up rear, Gavin flopped back onto the couch on his stomach. He heard a gasp and felt fingers tracing the _very_ belt-shaped bruising.

“Did you ask Hank to do this?” Connor asked.

“Oh, shit,” Gavin said. “Forgot to say anything.”

“Did you _enjoy_ it?”

Looking down, Gavin said, “Nah. It was part of my whole ‘trying to be brave but in dumb ways’ thing.” He made himself raise his head and meet Connor’s eyes. “And before you say it, ya big plastic lunk: no, I don’t think I have to keep up with you.”

Connor shook his head, but at least he was smiling. “At least now you can say that isn’t an activity you enjoy.” He settled down next to Gavin, squeezing in close, all warm and heavy.

“I like it when _you_ enjoy it. And I liked you talking dirty just now.”

Stroking Gavin’s hairline and smearing the little beads of sweat, Connor said, “I was attempting to prove to you that I believe sex between us doesn’t need to be soft to be emotional.”

Gavin’s eyes went wide. “I think you did. I was hella emotional for a guy getting fucked up his living room wall.”

A soft kiss landed on the bridge of his nose, on top of the scar. Gavin grabbed Connor’s wrist lightly. “Hey, I know you were trying not to bring it up before, but it doesn’t always have to be one way with Hank, either. When we’re with him, or...you know, if it’s just him and you.”

Connor nodded, somber. “I had sensed some frustration from him, but I found it difficult to bring it up in conversation.”

Gavin barked a laugh. “Definitely not with his Moby fucking Dick in your throat.”

Arching an eyebrow, Connor said, “I see Hank has been a little indiscreet.” He didn’t look upset about it, though.

“Well,” Gavin said, shrugging, “you already know he beats my ass. Nothing wrong with you and him doing some face-fucking.”

A smile—it was soft, the total opposite of face-fucking. “Thank you for acknowledging out loud that I sometimes meet Hank without you. I had always meant to tell you, but…”

“You thought I’d be jealous?”

“Maybe,” Connor said. “But it was also more complex than that.”

Gavin brushed his thumb along that sharp jaw. “More analyzing?”

Connor shook his head. “I...well, I was _afraid_.”

“Look at all of us,” said Gavin, chuckling. “Bunch of pussies.”

That made Connor frown. “I’m not sure I understand the semantic connection between female genitalia and cowardice. Or any other negative trait. The, ah... _pussy_ is no more or less offensive in appearance other genitalia.”

Gavin had to admit he had a point there. Cocks _were_ weird-looking. “Well, we call people dicks and assholes, too,” he said.

It was Connor’s turn to shrug. “Fair enough.” He stopped talking to stroke two fingers up and down between Gavin’s shoulder blades.

They were _for sure_ the same fingers that just been in Gavin’s ass, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. That’s why people invented showers. People invented _androids_ , too—and he was _absolutely_ going to ask this one to scrub the butt germs off his back a little later.

“You still want to do stuff with Hank?” Gavin asked. “I mean both of us, but also just you or just me.” He had an answer he was hoping for, but was going to let Connor choose.

“I enjoy our interactions with Hank,” said Connor. “And if you don’t believe it will prevent you and me from communicating in the future, then I would like to continue, yes.”

“Me, too,” Gavin said with a grin.

Connor walked the two filthy fingers like tiny legs right down Gavin’s back and dipped them into his still-very-slick crack. “Maybe we should propose a session in which Hank doesn’t feel pressured to act dominant. From what little I’ve seen, I believe he would respond very positively to praise and a gentler approach.”

Gavin’s voice came out tight, because there were two fingertips nudging at his tender asshole. With the fucked-out, super-relaxed, slippery mess down there, it wouldn’t take anything at all to slide right back in. All of his tension was gone; Gavin felt like he could take Hank _and_ Connor, and it made him all warm and tingly when he remembered he already had. Maybe he could wear a plug the next time Hank walloped his ass black and blue…

“Gavin.”

At least when he snapped out of it, he saw Connor was smiling.“Sorry, babe,” he said, giving a helpless shrug. “Concentrating and fucking don’t mix.” He knocked one knuckle against his skull. “At least not in meat brain.”

“You’re right,” Connor said. “That was unkind of me. We’ll get back to it, I promise. But what do you think about giving Hank a night when he can let down his guard?”

“All for it,” Gavin said. “But before that, there’s somebody I want you to meet. And before _that_ , I’m gonna fuck you until you _can_ breathe.”

Connor burst out laughing—that amazing, golden laugh that Gavin couldn’t get enough of. “I’m willing to let you try,” he said.

 

**

 

Toula had been frowning until she looked up and saw Gavin walking in the door. Then she broke out in a huge grin. It only got wider when she caught sight of Connor. She scurried out from behind the cash register, arms out and fingers already making clamping movements even though she hadn’t reached Gavin’s face.

He winced when she got hold of a hefty chunk of his cheek and pinched hard.

“My babies!” Toula crowed. “How are you? You are good, yeah?” She moved over to Connor and pinched his cheek, too.

It looked _brutal_ —Connor actually ducked his head and rubbed at the spot when Toula let him go. He shot Gavin a look, half wary and half pleased.

“These ones,” Toula said, waving her hand at Connor, “they are _atsáli_! Steel. Or maybe rubber, yeah? You can pinch hard, they don’t complain. Not like grandchildren!” She tapped her temple, right where Connor’s LED was placed. “Yes, not only just me and Demetrios here. We don’t run busy diner by ourselves. I have android cook! She’s a good girl. Never burn her fingers.”

Even with his face aching, Gavin couldn’t help but smile. “Connor, this is Toula. She’s great.”

Toula put both hands on her hips, giving Connor the once-over. “Connor. You look Greek. Except you are too pale. I call you _Leukos_ , yeah? Too white! Need to get some sun.”

Connor looked totally confused for a hot second, but then smiled and put out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Toula. Androids don’t have ethnicities, technically, but ‘Connor’ is an Irish name.”

“Pfft!” Toula’s face twisted up like she’d bit into a lemon. “Irish! Maybe you choose something better, yeah?”

Raising his eyebrows, Connor said, “‘Gavin’ is also Irish Gaelic in origin.”

She waved that away, too. “No. Gavin, he is honorary Greek. Maybe I call him _Erebos._ Or _Vrónikos_!” She rolled the “r” dramatically, then cracked up at her own joke.

It was a joke Gavin didn’t get.

Toula socked Connor on the arm and winked. “You think?”

Gavin was prepared to be left out of that one, but Connor turned his head and whispered, “It means ‘dirty.’”

That made Toula absolutely howl. “Is not wrong, though. Yeah?”

Chuckling, Connor told her, “No. Not wrong.”

It was Gavin’s turn to punch him on the bicep.

“Androids!” shouted Toula. “I can talk Greek to our Jamila. She talks all the languages—Spanish, sometime Arabic. Great for customers. So what you think, Connor? You are dirty too? Like Gavin?”

“Mamma, for God’s sake!”

Gavin hadn’t even heard Demetrios working in the background.

For once, Connor looked stuck for words.

Beaming, Gavin piped up: “Oh, he sure is, Toula. He sure is.”

 

**

 

A couple of days later, Hank looked mildly surprised to find himself cornered by Connor and Gavin in the kitchenette _again_.

“Something wrong, boys?” He only looked a little concerned.

Connor had his hands clasped behind his back, way too serious-looking for what was going down. “We’d like to propose an addition to our regular interactions.”

At that, Hank’s eyes went wide.

“No, no!” Gavin said, elbowing Connor. “Not another person. It’s not what he’s making it sound like.”

Frowning, Connor said, “I was trying to set a precedent of open and comprehensive communication. It’s important that we’re thorough about it.”

“Yeah, but you don’t have to sound like the dad that caught us smoking weed,” Gavin said.

Connor looked over at Hank, who shrugged.

“Not life or death,” he said. “It’s just sex.”

Gavin had to laugh at the callback, even though Hank didn’t realize he’d made one.

Connor cleared his throat, or at least mimicked the sound. It made him seem more like a disappointed parent, but at least he was trying.

“We want to give you the option to set the tone for our evenings together sometimes,” he said to Hank. “So you don’t feel as though you have to perform or put on a persona.”

“Meaning…?” Hank asked.

“Uh, Big Bad Dom doesn’t have to come out every time,” Gavin cut in. “Sometimes you can just leave him in the bear cave.”

Hank shot Gavin a look, but said, “Okay.”

“We want you to feel comfortable with any mode of sexual contact,” Connor said.

“You trying to get me to say I want to get fucked?”

“No, no,” said Gavin. “I mean, not if you don’t want it. It can just be—”

“I believe the term is ‘vanilla,’” Connor said.

After a touchy second of silence, all the tension broke up and Gavin and Hank busted out laughing.

“Yeah, I get you,” Hank said. “I could do with some no-pressure fucking every once in a while.”

Finally turning on the bedroom eyes, Connor asked, “How about tonight?”

 

**

 

Standing around in a tiny, ball-squeezing pair of black briefs made Gavin feel like a greeter at a skeezy massage parlor, even though he was in his own kitchen. Which, by the way, now featured a stupidly expensive coffee machine—the gift Connor had brought over a few nights before. It sure as hell cost more than some flowers.

The skivvies had been Connor’s idea, too—and his purchase. Gavin thought he pulled the look off _way_ better. He might be an Olympic swimmer or a Caribbean island boy toy, the thin fabric of the briefs clinging to every curve of that fantastic package.

With his fuzzy chest and legs and his dark, wiry treasure trail, Gavin felt a little dumpy. And the elastic was already cutting into the tops of his thighs.

Hopefully they’d be off soon. Anyway, if he and Connor were going to give Hank the royal treatment that night, might as well go full whorehouse.

When the man himself walked in, the skimpy outfits suddenly seemed totally worth it. Hank’s eyes went wide and his jaw dropped. He would have dropped the bottle in his hand, too, if Connor hadn’t seen it start to slip and grabbed it with his superhuman reflexes.

“Jesus _fuck_ ,” said Hank. He had to thumb spit out of the corners of his mouth and adjust his jeans, which made Gavin ridiculously happy.

He watched Connor saunter over, swinging that tight little ass, to run a hand up Hank’s shirt and slip his tongue into his mouth.

Hank grunted and seized the back of Connor’s neck, then nibbled his lower lip.

More turned on than uncomfortable now, Gavin snuck up and grabbed Hank’s free hand, sliding the first two fingers over his tongue.

Hank’s eyes snapped open. He broke away from Connor’s wet and eager lips with a grin. Drawing the fingers out of Gavin’s mouth, he sucked them himself, giving a dangerous-looking wink.

Gavin stepped closer to let him dip those wet fingers right under the waistband of the briefs, making his cock twitch.

Hank felt it, because he chuckled and snapped the elastic lightly back against Gavin’s belly. “C’mere,” he whispered, and Gavin went all too willingly.

The needy little noise he made into Hank’s mouth made Hank clutch his (mercifully healed) ass cheek and pull him in hard.

When they broke, Hank was breathing harder. “Sometimes I swear I’m either dreaming or dead,” he said.

Gavin turned his head when he felt Connor’s cool fingertip along his jaw. In a split second there were warm lips covering his and he opened up, he and Connor sharing the taste between them.

“Gotta say,” Hank breathed, “seeing you two in those little things is making me forget the soft stuff. I’d put the both of you over the couch and fuck your slutty asses one after the other till you’re begging to come.”

_Okay, absolutely_ , Gavin almost said. Then he remembered things were supposed to be low-key.

“You can do whatever you’d like, Hank,” Connor told him. “This is your night.”

Hank looked to be considering it for a second, but then he smiled and let his shoulders relax. After a deep breath, he said, “Gotta practice what I’m preaching, I guess. Don’t get me wrong, I love having the two of you on your knees for me. But, hell, maybe part of me is doing it to...I dunno... _protect_ myself. Like, if I’m a hard-ass, I won’t get as involved.”

Connor gave a little nod. “It’s very brave of you to admit that. Gavin and I were hoping you’d allow yourself to be vulnerable.”

Gavin wasn’t sure he’d have put it that way, but he was more than happy to let Connor do the talking.

As much as he probably needed a night of all-out support group shit—crying and shoulder-slapping, eating microwave pizza and bitching about their dads (Who would Connor talk about, anyway? That Kamski guy?), he was pretty sure he needed a solid dicking _a lot_ more.

“Come to bed,” Connor said, giving Hank the ol’ flutter-eyes.

At least they were on the same page. Thank fuck for horny robots.

“Let us make you feel good,” he said. Setting the mystery bottle of booze on the kitchen counter, he grabbed one of Hank’s enormous hands and started pulling him toward the bedroom.

Gavin was happy to grab the other hand and let his idiot cock lead the way.

Next to the bed, Connor tipped his head up to steal a kiss from Hank, then went straight to his knees and got busy with buttons and zippers. One white hand was already pawing at the jaw-dropping bulge in Hank’s jeans.

_Did he have to get his pants specially made?_ Holy shitballs; Hank totally limp still beat out Gavin rock hard when it came to length. Gobsmacked and drooling, Gavin hung around long enough to watch Connor fit his gorgeous lips around a halfie that would drive a donkey to suicide. Then he slipped around behind Hank’s broad back and grabbed two handfuls of beefy ass.

He’d tongue-fucked Connor plenty of times after Hank was done with him, but he’d actually never tried _this_. Figured he should ask, so he put one hand on Hank’s shoulder and said in a whispery little nothing-voice: “Can I, uh…?”

_Very eloquent, Gav_.

Hank grunted. Connor was starting to make deliciously sloppy sounds around front.

“I guess,” Hank said. “Yeah.”

Gavin hit his knees. As usual, his dick was way more certain than he was. It twitched, pulling at the elastic and gapping it away from Gavin’s belly. He tugged the teeny shorts down his thighs and let the wildlife roam free. _Sweet relief._

Nothing left but to dive on in. Like he might have said to Hank himself a couple days before, Gavin would have cold-cocked the ballsy sonofabitch who told him _You’re gonna end up eating Hank Anderson’s ass...and loving it._

But there he was, dumping a waterfall of spit down Hank’s thigh, just cramming his face in deeper and hoping to God he didn’t lose his shit and come. Eating out Connor was fantastic, but there was something about the taste, the feel, the _smell_ of a human guy that drove Gavin right out of his mind.

When Hank made a sound he’d never heard before, Gavin had to haul on his dick like a lug wrench to keep from shooting a load right between Hank’s ankles.

“Easy,” Hank gasped. “Holy fuck. About to embarrass myself here.”

Gavin managed to get a couple more licks in before he heard Connor pull off with a filthy slurp. Reluctantly, he got to his feet and tongued a little of the sweat away from Hank’s lower back, but stopped short of wedging his hard-on up against that shockingly nice ass. If Hank ever did actually let Gavin _fuck_ him, he might not even get halfway in before he blew.

Red-faced and breathing hard, Hank sat back on the bed and fell backwards, swiping sweat off his forehead. “Check that off the bucket list,” he said, then full-on smiled, showing off the gap between his front teeth.

“What would like us to do next?” Connor asked, wiping whatever androids had for spit off his perfect chin.

“I’d _like_ you to let an old man catch his breath.”

“You’re not old,” Connor told him, running a hand up the inside of his thigh.

It was crazy hot knowing he was swiping those fingers through the trail of slobber Gavin had left there.

“Ain’t young, either,” Hank said. “The two of you could give me something to look at while I get back up to speed.”

By the look of that fucking fire hose lying against his leg, Hank was already _up to speed_. Still, Gavin wasn’t about to complain over some one-on-one with Connor. If anything, he was twice as randy after make-up sex than he had been when he and Connor had first started fucking. “C’mere,” he said, crooking a finger.

Connor walked over, that perfect cock bobbing a little as he walked.

Gavin licked his lips.

Hank scooted over to let him lay Connor back on the bed.

Bending over, Gavin got as much of Connor’s cock into his mouth as he could, one hand on his smooth belly. Warm fingers touched his leg.

“Gavin,” Connor said, soft and needy.

It was a damn shame to fill up that mouth again, but Gavin was determined to put on a show. Without pulling off, he slung one leg over and planted his knees right by Connor’s shoulders.

“Oh, yeah.” Hank’s voice was low and needy, too.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gavin saw him wrap one gigantic hand around his gigantic cock, all slicked up with Connor’s spit. Then he wasn’t seeing anything but gray swirls, because Connor grabbed his hips and pulled him down to swallow him whole.

Gavin hummed and blinked away the fog. He slid one hand around Connor’s hip and sunk a finger deep into slick warmth. It earned him a whiny little noise around his cock and whatever amazing contraption Connor had inside him clenching around his finger. Even though what they were doing was absolutely raunchy, and Connor’s circuits (or whatever) could be overloading in the heat of the moment, some part of Gavin’s brain appreciated how he managed to respect his limits. Connor didn’t try to buck up and cram his cock down Gavin’s throat, even though on the other end Gavin was pistoning deep into that endless hot mouth.

He’d gotten misty while being rammed a time or two, but crying while sucking dick would be a new one for sure.

The slippery finger poking at his ass was a good distraction, then. At first, Gavin thought it was Connor returning the favor, but it was way too wide. He just about smashed his nuts against Connor’s face when Hank’s thick finger slid right in to the knuckle.

“Oh,” Hank said. “Looks like someone needs his ass stuffed right about now.”

Gavin would have agreed, but—you know—his yap was also stuffed. He’d just wait for Hank to haul him right off Connor and impale him on that massive thing to ride home to glory. He was drooling down Connor’s shaft and onto his pale, hairless balls just thinking about it.

“Gav,” Hank said—gentle for a change— “you ready, baby?”

He let Connor slide out of his dripping mouth and whimpered.

“Good.”

A kiss on the top of his head. When Gavin moved away, Hank leaned over and pushed his tongue into Connor’s mouth, his shiny fingers trailing down one perfect cheek.

For his part, Connor clutched at the back of Hank’s neck and moaned against his lips.

With a hand on Gavin’s waist, Hank tossed a pillow aside and patted a spot by the headboard. He told Gavin, “Why don’t you get right here on your knees? Face the wall for me, sweetheart.”

_Sweetheart_. That tiny endearment, together with the tender look Hank was shooting his way, was a no-fail recipe for Weepy Bitchdom. Remembering Connor’s words, Gavin corrected himself in his head. He didn’t have to cry like a bitch; he could just cry like...Gavin.

“Mm-hm,” he managed, sniffling. He shuffled over and put his cheek against the cool wall above the headboard of the bed, waiting for Hank’s soft fuzziness against his back.

“Connor, honey,” Hank said, “can you get in real close behind me? Help Gavin get off while I fuck him nice and slow. Then it’s your turn, okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Connor said quietly.

Hank smiled and ruffled his shiny, dark hair. “Nah, baby. You don’t need that tonight.”

Giving a smile right back, Connor said, “Okay, Hank.”

When Gavin turned back toward the wall, he felt one beefy arm around his waist and the fist-sized head of that monster cock sliding into his crack. There was the wiry brush of beard against his shoulder and Hank said, “Sit back on me real slow, gorgeous.”

Gavin was more than happy to, savoring every single ludicrous inch.

When Hank bottomed out with a grunt, he used his free hand to cover Gavin’s where it was mashed against the wall.

A second or two more, and Connor’s fingers were wrapping tight around Gavin’s cock—already all slicked up with the soft thumb teasing the head just like Gavin liked. He was pretty sure he could be quiet and keep the mood when Hank pushed against him, but then he drew his hips back and slid in again with a delicious, dirty, sticky sound. Gavin let loose and _wailed_.

He barely had to move, with Hank reaming his ass and fucking him into Connor’s fist, leaving wet smears across the wood. At least _that_ would clean up easier than the couch.

Sure was gonna take some scrubbing, though, because after about a minute and a half of preparing to meet Jesus, Gavin came so hard his body tried to bend him double. Instead, he got his cheekbone smacked against the wall.

He sort of hoped it would bruise.

“Yeah,” Hank whispered in his ear as he rode it out. “That’s right, baby. Show me how you come on my cock.”

If he needed any evidence for that, there was a goddamn Jackson Pollock over the bed by the time Gavin was done.

Hank took a few seconds to plant a whole row of little kisses up and down Gavin’s shoulder and neck before he finally let him go. “Connor,” he said. “Get over here, beautiful. You ready to take me?”

Connor nodded. He was all bright-eyed and shivery as he moved next to Gavin to take his place by the wall.

Gavin could have sworn for a confused second that he was sweating, until he realized it was _his own_ sweat rubbing off along Connor’s body and easing the way as they passed.

Hank ran one hand up into Connor’s hair and used the first finger of the other hand to swab some of Gavin’s come off the wood and bring it up to Connor’s mouth.

He sucked it off, his pink tongue flickering out between Hank’s fingers, eyes drifting closed.

“It okay if I come inside him?” Hank asked Gavin.

“Um, yeah. Sure. Totally.”

“Good.”

The hint of red Gavin saw on Hank’s cheeks got a little brighter.

“Was hoping you’d do me a favor,” Hank said. “Not sure I’m ready for the real deal, you know…but maybe you could put a finger in. If that’s all right with you.”

Gavin—his brain still stuck in After-Orgasm Dumbass Mode (as opposed to Regular Dumbass Mode)—was about to ask why Hank wanted a finger _and_ his dick inside Connor when he figured out what he was _really_ saying. “Oh, uh...you sure?”

“Pretty sure,” Hank said.

“Great,” Gavin told him, sounding like the nerd kid who’d just gotten volunteered to captain the kickball team.

It helped a little when Hank kissed his forehead and said, “It’ll be okay.”

To top it off, Connor turned his head and gave a heart-melting smile.

Suddenly, Gavin felt a million times better.

Then, Connor was biting his lip and making that sweet-as-fuck whimpering noise as Hank started pushing right in.

Watching _him_ taking jumbo-sized dick inch by inch came in a very close second place to Gavin himself getting split apart. He snapped out of it when the last inch disappeared into that perky white ass, and he grabbed hold of Connor’s cock, ready to stroke along.

Gavin stopped for a second, though, as soon as he got his finger right up in between Hank’s meaty cheeks.

_Come on, nut up. You stuck your tongue in there. He’s not gonna choke you out if you put a fingertip in._

Connor was already whining and moaning and pushing into Gavin’s grip, but Hank hadn’t started moving his hips. He was waiting.

Gavin bit down on his lip, then put some pressure behind his finger. The air left his lungs in a sputtery rush when it popped past the first right of tight muscle.

That seemed to kick things into motion. Gavin had to follow with his hand as Hank started grinding, and totally wasn’t prepared when his finger slid all the way in on the next thrust.

His frozen horror didn’t last long, though, because Hank made this _completely delicious_ noise. It wasn’t high-pitched or whiny-sounding, but it was totally different from anything Gavin had heard and it was enough to make his worn-out cock muster a twitch or two.

Hank ran a hand up Connor’s lean torso to pinch one tiny pink nipple. “ _Yeah_ ,” he said, almost to himself.

Connor’s mouth dropped open and his eyes closed. “ _Oh_. Please...tighter.”

It took a moment for Gavin to catch on that meant _him_. He got a better grip and ran his tight fist down the length of Connor’s cock, pushing his finger deeper inside Hank at the same time.

“Fuck,” Hank ground out. “Oh... _dammit_. Fuck.”

“What?” Gavin asked, ready to yank the finger free.

Hank sucked in air through his teeth. “Don’t stop—gonna come.” The words were all run together.

Well, Connor took that as his cue, because he got out one last squeaky little sigh before his cock was pulsing in Gavin’s grip. He let loose with a fucking fountain of spunk, coating the headboard and Gavin’s little masterpiece.

Hank clenched down hard on the finger inside him and he bit down on Connor’s shoulder to muffle a wall-rattling shout.

Gavin only stared, managing a semi with his wet palm right up against Hank’s quivery butt. On second thought, if Hank decided to bottom, Gavin might not even make it until he got his pants off.

When everything shook out, Gavin let his finger gently slide free. Without thinking, he shut his eyes and brought it right up to his mouth to suck on it, completely blissed out.

_Dirty? Fuck yes. And also amazing._

Connor and Hank were staring at him when he opened his eyes. Both of them looked _hungry._

Connor grabbed Gavin’s wrist quick as a damn snake and hauled it toward him, closing his mouth over the same finger. A split second after, Hank took hold of Gavin’s chin—hard—and smashed their lips together, licking the musky taste out of his mouth.

“Wow,” said Hank when they broke.

That kind of summed it up for all three of them, really.

After pulling out of Connor, Hank manhandled him over to one side while looping the other arm around Gavin’s waist. They crashed to the bed in a messy, sweaty, come-sticky pile, taking a few seconds to sort out limbs. Gavin and Connor ended up like bookends, their heads resting on each of Hank’s shoulders.

“You’re quite sensitive to insertion,” Connor told him, sounding gorgeously fucked-out.

Shaking his head, Hank looked over. “Thanks, doctor. Next time, _you_ can do the prostate check.”

“Oh.” Connor frowned. “Was that too clinical?”

“It’s fine, kid. You’re not wrong.”

“But it was okay?” Gavin asked him.

Hank paused a moment. “Yeah. Felt good. Maybe I can work up to letting you...ya know…”

“Maybe,” said Gavin, still not totally on board.

“Perhaps I could help if Gavin is uncertain,” Connor said. He _did_ sound damn excited about the idea.

A chuckle from Hank. “I would, babe, but Gav called dibs.”

Connor squinted. “Is that a human convention you’re required to honor?”

That brought a full-on laugh. “Not _required_ ,” Hank said. “It’s just a thing. Like calling shotgun in the car. Or a pinky swear.”

“A what?” asked Connor.

Hank raised a hand as far as he could, little finger extended, and Gavin immediately hooked his own pinky around it. “Pinky swear,” Hank said.

Connor still looked clueless. “Sometimes I think there are certain things about human interaction I might never understand.”

Gavin laughed and Hank joined in, hugging the befuddled android tight.


	3. Chapter 3

The day that Gavin caught sight of the ruler on Hank’s desk—which was less than a week after Night of the Tiny Black Underwear—he had to run almost immediately and beat off in the men’s room.

Sure, he _could_ have paged Hank to the interview suite.

The decision not to was based on a couple of things: one, he was pretty sure if he didn’t get a jump on it, he’d end up passed out with two full liters of blood trapped in a zipper-splitting hard-on. Two, he was going to make himself wait _on purpose_.

A little while back, Connor had called him out for having the patience of a toddler. Of course, it had been while he was actively stuffed full of Connor’s dick, meaning he’d also been incapable of saying anything mature. According to a certain not-as-perfect-as-Gavin-had-thought android, patience was a “positive character trait.” So, yeah, the plan was to hold out for a little while and let the anticipation build.

In the meantime, he wanted to take care of another two things that were kind of related to the first two things, but not entirely. The first thing on the second list— _fuck...this was getting a little confusing_ —was seeing if there was any way he could spy on the next time Connor and Hank got together. Yeah, technically it was supposed to be _their_ time. And he really wasn’t jealous anymore. But it would be amazing to see Connor go for a gentler approach instead of the usual throat-reaming. Plus, even if he didn’t, watching him swallow that monster cock as easy as shotgunning a beer was ragingly hot. Literally no downsides to the plan...other than maybe Hank and Connor not wanting him there.

_Oh, well—never hurt to ask._ Even if he got shot down, he’d give himself props for communicating.

_I’m a motherfucking big boy, now, bitches._

Which brought him to point two, list two: give Connor a heads-up about his growing fixation. Ever since his one-on-one with Hank back at his place, Gavin had been up to his neck in a soup of uncomfortable need: the need, specifically, for a chance to call Hank _Daddy_. Optimally in the middle of getting his ass whipped, but any other time would do, too.

As long as it was _soon_.

But that one, for sure, was something he wanted to run by Connor before casually dropping it in when things were getting hot. If the poor kid didn’t understand _dibs_ or pinky swears, well...God only knew.

On the day he and Connor had their next one-on-one penciled in, Gavin could barely wait to get off work, get off his pants, and just _get off_. Still, he made a vow to tackle the talking first so he could get to moaning, begging, and screaming with his conscience clear.

Damned if fate wasn’t determined to fuck that up, though. By _fate_ he pretty much meant _Connor_. And by _Connor_ he meant _the almost-unrecognizable twink slut who showed up at his door in tight jeans and a v-neck shirt instead of his uniform_. The bastard hadn’t even gelled his hair and it swung over his forehead with the slightest hint of a wave.

Gavin’s cock instantly punched his zipper with a knockout blow. He could hear the fabric of his pants screaming for mercy. “You...ah... _Jesus_ …” He scrubbed his eyes hard with the heels of his hands, praying it wasn’t a horny fever dream. “Connor.. _._ what the _…_? Fuck _me_.”

He gave a lopsided smile, raising one eyebrow. “Was hoping you’d fuck _me_ , actually.”

Running a sweaty palm over his hair, Gavin leered. “Oh yeah, baby. Gonna nail you to the wall.”

When Connor reached out to pull him in for the first sloppy kiss of the evening, Gavin actually poked his finger up between them and leaned back, dodging.

_God, who_ was _he anymore?_

“B-but I just gotta ask you something first.”

Connor frowned. “Is everything all right, Gavin?”

“Yeah. _Oh, yeah_. More than okay.” He took a deep breath. “I just, well, promised myself I’d communicate first. You know.”

All the worry dissolved into that dimpled smile that made Gavin both want to kiss it and wipe it right off his ridiculously handsome face with the head of his cock. “Of course. Should we sit down?”

Gavin shook his head. “Shouldn’t take long.” _One question now, one after I’ve destroyed that ass like a heat-seeking missile._ “So...you can say no, but I was wondering if sometime I could watch you and Hank together.”

That earned the puppy-dog head tilt. “You do that all the time. Under what circumstances would it be different?”

“Under the circumstances that I’m not supposed to be there,” Gavin said. “So it feels more...dirty.”

“Oh,” Connor said, nodding slowly. “You mean a scenario in which observation would be illicit or invasive.”

Gavin hung his head a little. “Well, not if you put it like that…”

“No, no,” Connor said, resting a hand on Gavin’s shoulder. “If the scenario is agreed upon beforehand, I only meant that it would _seem_ invasive in order to heighten arousal and excitement for all parties. In the course of my research, I’ve found that such a scene is a popular construct in pornography.”

Gavin’s eyes almost fell out of his head. “You watch porn? For _research_?”

Stroking one finger along Gavin’s stubbled cheek, Connor gave a teasing smile. “I was constructed as a combat and enforcement model. I’ve had to puzzle out human pleasure on my own.”

Already urgently hard, Gavin choked out, “Coulda fooled me.”

“Good to hear.” It was a throaty, silky purr. “And yes, if Hank is fine with having you watch, I’d be glad to indulge your fantasy, Gavin. Now, where were we?”

Gavin faked confusion. “Fuck, where were we?” He grinned and grabbed Connor by his wrist and the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. I was going to rail your ass into the next dimension.”

“If the dimension you refer to is the fourth, all you’d need to—” he was cut off, then, because two fingers were being shoved past his lips.

“Shut your whore mouth,” Gavin said fondly, ramming his fingers all the way to the quivering back of Connor’s throat. “I want you over by the wall. Gonna fuck the back-talk right out of you.” He drew his spit-covered fingers out. “ _Capisce_?”

“ _È chiaro, signore_ ,” Connor said with a wink.

“Whatever.” Gavin smacked his butt. “Put your hands on the wall and don’t move.” When Connor did what he was told, Gavin had to stop a second and shake off vertigo. He’d seen him in every possible debauched position—flat on his back, ass in the air, spread and dripping and begging. But for some reason, Connor with his pale hands on the grubby wall, looking over his shoulder and sticking out his perfect ass, was the hottest imaginable sight.

Gavin sucked back spit like a fucking pool drain and went to get his hands all over that incredible body. Close up, his raging hard-on pressed against the back of those jeans, he leaned in and bit down hard right where Connor’s long, white neck met his shoulder.

That got a gasp and some squirming.

“Don’t you move,” Gavin whispered. He ran both hands up underneath Connor’s shirt, stopping when his sweat-slick fingertips found his nipples. In spite of the wetness, Gavin managed to get a decent grip and pinched _hard_ , feeling a shudder move through Connor’s body from shoulders to knees.

He made a high-pitched sound, then squeaked, “Please—”

“‘Please,’ what?” Gavin asked, tugging and twisting a little.

Connor stuck his ass right out, cramming it against Gavin’s crotch. “Please fuck me.”

Gavin let go and drew one hand out, using it to get a fistful of Connor’s silky hair. He was starting to understand how Hank felt. “Like you even have to ask,” he growled. “You come in here looking like that—you gotta _know_ you’re gonna get fucked.”

Another whine. “Mm-hm.”

“Oh yeah? Maybe after I come, I’ll get myself a coffee and leave you there all hard and dripping until I’m ready to go again. Dirty little whore.” Gavin pulled Connor’s head back. “ _You’re beautiful,_ ” he whispered, then licked his earlobe. Since his dick was ready to deploy the nuclear option, Gavin didn’t waste any more time, unfastening Connor’s jeans and shoving them down around his knees ( _still no underwear, hot damn_ ). A second or so later, he’d struggled out of his own. He pushed one palm hard into the middle of Connor’s back and said, “Stick that ass out.”

Making a sweet little sound and wiggling his butt, Connor bent like an acrobat—chest against the wall and perky cheeks shoved right up against Gavin. Some of that slippery, delicious, perfect lube was already leaking out.

With his brain close to overload already, Gavin swiped up some of it and smeared it over his painfully hard cock. He made sure to wipe the rest down the side of one leg so he could get a firm grip on Connor’s narrow ass cheeks and spread them open. “You better be ready,” he said. It was kind of hard to hear over the clobbering sound of his heartbeat. “Not stopping till I fill you up.”

“Mm,” Connor said with another wiggle. “I _need_ it.”

“I know you do.” After that, talking took a back seat to cramming every available inch of cock into the tightness opening up around it. So _back_ a back seat, in fact, that talking was in another car in another _county_. Gavin just made noise, slamming forward and bottoming out, his balls giving Connor’s sack a good slap.

“God _damn_ , you’re tight.” It sounded a little less take-charge than he’d been going for, but fuck it. He hadn’t gotten nearly the same practice time as Hank had being a hard-driving top. Which made him wonder who in the living hell had worked up the stones to try dicking down that six-foot-three-something tank of a man? _Shit, how had it even come up?_ Before the last time they were all together, Gavin had almost convinced himself Hank wouldn’t even feel a cock in his ass unless it was a guy his size or bigger. Might as well be cramming your dick in a boulder...except the boulder could crush your windpipe if you hit the wrong angle or took too long.

But he’d been pretty sensitive with one finger in. Just that, honestly, had made it feel like all the surreptitious jerk-off sessions to photos of thirtysomething fuck machine Hank had been worth it. Never mind that _fifty_ something Hank was _still_ a fuck machine who could make Gavin come so hard he blew holes in the wall like an anti-aircraft gun.

He almost smacked himself in the head. _Focus, numbnuts!_

Connor was no slouch in the yanking-a-guy’s-soul-out-through-his-dick department, and _that one_ happened to be the ass he was currently buried in, so maybe he should hold off on the Hank fantasies for now.

He smacked Connor’s thigh, enjoying the little jiggle. “Tight as hell, that’s right. You’d think I wasn’t fucking you deep on the regular, but we both know that’s not true. You can’t get enough, can you?”

“Mm-mm.” Another coy head-shake, but the little shit punctuated it by clamping down on Gavin’s cock until he wheezed.

Gavin growled and pinched the roundest part of Connor’s ass. On anybody but him, it would bruise. “Think you can make me come before I’m ready, huh? We’ll see about that.” He hooked the fingers of one hand around a knobby hip bone and planted the other hand square in the middle of Connor’s back, pushing him against the wall as he set up a painfully slow rhythm.

Connor whined and tried to push against Gavin and fill himself up, but every time he did, Gavin would back away to the point that he almost slipped out. To be honest, it kind of sucked, because his first instinct was _cram it in there and plow_. But he wanted to draw it out like Hank did, torture Connor a little bit, and give himself a pat on the back afterward for his impressive self-control.

Gavin Two-Point-Oh was loading...and the result was gonna be one suave-ass bitch.

Connor, meanwhile, was scratching little dents in the wall. (Gavin would catch sight of those dents a day or two later and have to jerk it right then and there. He didn’t have to put on a show of holding back if it was just him and the hand, best friends for life.)

Another pathetic-sounding whimper from Connor, with bonus ass wiggle. “Please,” he whined.

“‘Please’ what, baby?” Gavin asked. “You want a little more?”

“Yes. I need it.”

“You _need_ it, huh?” Grinning, Gavin punched his hips forward. He was insanely pleased to see a little of that weird spunk-substitute drip from the head of Connor’s cock and land on the scuffed linoleum between his feet. “Okay, honey. I’ll give you more. Not gonna touch you yet. You have to earn that.” True to his promise, Gavin sped up his thrusts, holding his breath so he could hear the slick sound of his cock moving in that perfect, tight passage.

That sure did the trick, because Connor set up _wailing_ and it was hot as all fuck. Hotter than the jeans and t-shirt, hotter than that t-shirt rucked up over his ass and those jeans around his ankles.

_Almost_ as hot as Gavin gripping his hips and pulling his cheeks open to watch him take his cock.

“Gavin....” Connor had his eyes shut tight, his lips parted just a little. He’d let himself go all loose, collapsing against the wall with his back bent deep, shivering a little with every thrust. When a little pinpoint of silvery drool popped up at the corner of his slack mouth and ran all the way across the curve of his lower lip, Gavin almost busted his nut right there.

_Almost_ . He was determined to pump away until Connor begged for it, but when he _did_ end up begging, it was nothing Gavin expected.

It was infinitely better and way, way worse at the same time.

Connor made a sobbing noise and mashed his cheek against the wall. “Please. _More_.”

“ _Fuck_ , you’re a little slut,” Gavin said, all in a rush. He was trying to sound farther than he was from blowing his wad. “Okay, I’ll give you more. Want me to fuck you hard?”

“Yes! Fuck me!”

Gavin had to get a solid grip on Connor’s hips to control his squirming and slam into him.

One of Connor’s fingers popped right through the drywall.

“That good?” Gavin asked, getting breathless.

“So good. Please…”

“Yeah, I know you love it.”

_And then it happened..._

Connor opened his eyes—or at least the one eye that Gavin could see as he rammed away—licked his lips, and said, “ _Fuck me, Daddy_.”

Gavin’s eyes almost popped out of his skull. He tried to pull in a breath but choked on spit, which meant that whatever noise left his mouth didn’t sound human. Not much time to care about that, though, because all of his muscles from ankle to shoulder went tight as fucking guitar strings. A half second later, he _utterly lost his shit_.

For real, it felt like his backbone had liquefied and shot straight out of his dick.

“ _Motherfucker_ !” It was the only word Gavin could manage, and he was _still coming_. Nothing left to do but hang onto Connor like the world’s sweatiest backpack and wait for it to be over.

However, he was not _about_ to let a cocky-ass, porn-watching android get the jump on him completely. The sheer amount of fucking he’d been doing the last few months had made him quicker on the draw. Even before the aftershocks let up, Gavin reached around and put a death grip on Connor’s cock.

Real sword in the stone shit: _yank that thing like King Arthur, baby._

“Come for Daddy,” he said, croaking it right in Connor’s ear. “Do it right now, you filthy slut!”

The split second of hesitation told him he’d thrown Connor for a loop with his quick snapback.

But the boy was nothing if not fast. He arched his back and groaned, clenching. His cock twitched against Gavin’s palm and that amazing endless orgasm revved up.

For once, Gavin wasn’t jealous. His orgasm had felt like getting backed over by a gravel truck. Speaking of, as Connor’s insides squeezed out whatever was left in Gavin’s poor dick, two more freaky-strong fingers punched into plaster and rained white dust down on the spreading puddle of spunk.

Surprised, disoriented, and suddenly spent, Gavin let his forehead smack down hard against Connor’s shoulder, even while his cock was still pumping like a firehose in his hand.

When the spasms died down, Connor seemed to slump, too—his palms sliding down the busted-up wall and the crazy bend in his back straightening out so Gavin’s softening cock slipped free.

Groaning at the loss of contact, Gavin snaked his arms around Connor’s waist and pushed up against that plush ass. He grunted and gave Connor’s middle a pathetic squeeze. “I hate you,” he said, lips smashed against skin.

“Because you came before you were ready?” Connor asked, casually pulling Gavin in close.

“Yes.” Gavin pouted. “That was a dirty trick and you know it.”

“What was?”

“Don’t play dumb. Calling me ‘Daddy.’”

“Not _my_ dirty trick.” Connor half-turned in Gavin’s arms. “Hank suggested it.”

“Oh, _fuck_ that guy.” Gavin had tried for _Extreme Seriousness_ but he was having trouble working up the energy.

Connor, who had maneuvered himself all the way around, scratched the back of Gavin’s neck and kissed the top of his head. “You do,” he said. “We both do.”

Gavin leaned right into the scratch like a dog. “Technicality. You can fuck off, too.”

“If you’d like.”

Summoning his very finest whiny bottom voice, Gavin said, “No. I want you to come to bed.”

“For a second round?”

Gavin squared his shoulders and tried for the millionth time not to mind that Connor was taller than him and Hank was the Jolly Green Fucking Giant in comparison. “Actually, I figured we could just hang out. But only if I get to be little spoon.”

Connor raised his eyebrows. “Cuddling.”

“Whatever. Shift your weird robot ass and hold me.”

Grinning, Connor took a half-step back, then swept Gavin up off the floor so quickly he flat-out screamed like a baby goat.

“I’m not going to drop you,” Connor said, faking irritation.

Gavin swallowed back against the adrenaline dump in his system. “You and Hank, I swear. Showing off, toting around the short guy. Very fucking manly.”

Connor stopped with a sigh at the foot of the bed, relaxed his grip, and let Gavin fall—bouncing and squawking—onto the mattress. “Gavin,” he said, hands on hips, “you just fucked me so hard I damaged your wall. I would appreciate it if you would _please_ shut up.”

Gavin could manage the look of shock for about a second and a half before falling back against the bed in a fit of giggles. He winked, scratched his balls, then held out his arms. “Come on. I’m shutting up. This is me shutting up.”

Even though he tucked himself behind Gavin’s sweaty back, Connor asked, “Why don’t I believe you?”

Contentedly hooking a leg over Connor’s hip and nuzzling into his scentless armpit, Gavin told him, “‘Cause you know nothing stops me from talking.” He could feel Connor’s frown beside his neck.

“If this is an attempt to get me to say ‘cock’ outside of a sexual context, I’m not falling for it,” Connor said.

“But you just—” Gavin raised his head, mildly confused. The confusion fizzled when he caught sight of Connor’s shit-eating grin. He was about to snark back, but a set of fingertips dug into his ribcage, making him fall apart again. Then both of them were laughing—grabbing and slapping and tickling each other like drunk-ass frat boys.

How often that led to full-on fucking when it came to frat boys, Gavin wasn’t sure. He hadn’t gone to college. Turned out cops were plenty horny for his taste.

Talking into the raspy sound of Gavin catching his breath, Connor asked, “Why do you think Hank recommended I use that term?” It wasn’t snarky, but an honest question. “In my research, I noticed it is typically applied to older, larger sex partners—often with more body hair. You are at least one of those, but not both.”

Gavin chuckled. “Am, too older. They didn’t have androids when I was a kid. Anyway, he joked about it when we talked. He ended up coming here because he felt bad about the whole belt thing.”

“Really?”

“We didn’t have sex,” Gavin said, suddenly paranoid.

Connor brushed a hand through his hair. “It wouldn’t have mattered if you had.”

Shaking his head, Gavin said, “I like when it’s the three of us right now. I mean, other than the stuff at work. Maybe down the line a little bit. We can take things slow, see how it goes.”

Connor made a little noise in his throat. Gavin felt it against his cheek. “That’s not something you would have said two months ago,” Connor told him.

Maybe it was the afterglow, or maybe he really _wasn’t_ getting defensive, but Gavin only shrugged and smiled. “Yeah. It’s weird, huh?”

“Weird and good,” said Connor.

He was never one to let anything rest, so Gavin said, “Just don’t let me get like Fowler.”

“Ah, yes,” Connor said, lightly tugging damp strands of Gavin’s armpit hair, “a man who is deeply committed to his partner and his work. How horrifying.”

Gavin snorted. “I meant ‘chubby with a desk job,’ smart mouth.”

Poking at Gavin’s chest with one gentle finger, Connor said, “C’mon. You like me.”

“Yeah, I do. I really, really do.”

 

**

 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that Hank was on board with a little voyeurism. The same as it had with with Gavin, patching things up and talking them out had busted the dam. All three of them were practically drowning in horny for each other. Connor mentioned that Hank had stroked his ass during a briefing. That made Gavin happy—earlier that same day he’d swabbed a drop of vanilla coffee creamer off the front of Hank’s shirt then licked his finger, only to get blindsided an hour later by the guy hauling him into a corner for a filthy, tongue-sucking kiss.

Every day became a sneaky, exciting, hormone-soaked game. If things got any more obvious, some Australian motherfucker was going to come in, set up shop, and start making a nature documentary. _The Mating Habits of Randy Detroit Cops_.

Hank and Connor had made some sort of loose agreement that one of them would give Gavin a heads-up when they planned to meet next.

It had been Connor who’d mentioned offhand that he usually paged Hank to the second-floor men’s room, not the interview suite. The john one level up got a whole lot less traffic, _but still_. Just the image of Hank cramming his outsize trouser monster down Connor’s throat in a place where anyone could walk in and catch them at it made Gavin so dizzyingly hard he almost died of thirst and caffeine withdrawal before he could get his boner down enough to get up from behind the desk for coffee. It still made him consider a fast, brutal wank in the second-floor jacks. It wouldn’t take long at all if he used his imagination. Hell, maybe he’d jerk off right out in the open—even cram a finger or two in his ass—daring someone to stroll in and see.

Luckily, a message from Connor popped up on his console: Interview Two in five minutes. Two didn’t have soundproofing, but what it _did_ have was an observation room right next door. None of the one-way window shit you saw in old cop movies, either: the little cubby had three-sixty customizable views from a pinpoint camera array all over the walls and ceiling. There were even a few in the floor. Gavin decided that if a single drop of synthetic spit fell off Connor’s perfect chin while he was deepthroating the anaconda and landed on a cam in floor view, he was gonna come hard enough to give himself a permanent brain injury.

He fucking booked it to the interview suites, sporting half wood already. Inside the observation suite, he locked the door and slammed the button that started the cam feed. Two seconds later, his inflating dick was out and ready.

Good thing, too—the HD image that popped up on the monitor grid was fucking incredible already. Hank had one hand curled around the back of Connor’s neck, tight and possessive, holding one of Connor’s wrists with the other hand as they kissed hard and deep. Gavin had forgotten how high quality the sound was. A spray of hidden mics picked up all the wet noises and little groans and beamed them directly into his brain. It always got him going when Connor pretended to be helpless—letting himself be held down or restrained even though he could rip off a guy’s arm as easy Gavin plucked stray hairs. ( _What? He didn’t wax or anything, but he sure wasn’t gonna have a unibrow, either._ )

Hank made a low sound and backed Connor up against the wall. It was less of a growl and more of a hum—a little like he was _asking_ something.

Gavin poked a finger at the touchpad controls to pivot the view, then tugged at his straining cock.

Connor had his head back as far as it could go, his eyes closed, as Hank mouthed over his throat and pulled his collar aside to get at all the smooth white skin underneath. He whimpered briefly, and a faint clinking sound made Gavin look down at Connor’s waistline. Hank was pulling a belt undone. _Connor’s belt._

This wasn’t going in the direction Gavin expected, but he was up for whatever went down. Or whoever.

He got down on the floor a little stiffly—one knee then the other. It wasn’t a position Gavin had seen him in too often, but watching him shoot a look full of dirty promise up to Connor made his mouth water and his cock throb. Speaking of things you didn’t really see, that look made Connor raise a hand to his mouth and mash one knuckle against his teeth. The move was so innocent-virgin hot that Gavin had to choke out his dick like a jiu-jitsu master.

How in the _absolute fuck_ Hank managed to hold eye contact with Connor the entire time he was pulling Connor’s cock out and sliding it over the top of his tongue and between his lips Gavin would never know. The crazy bastard hadn’t even blinked once. Now his nose was almost pressed against Connor’s twitching belly and the head of that incredible cock was moving his Adam’s apple...and Gavin was drooling on his shirt and leaking all over knuckles gone white with strain.

Poor Connor (“poor” - _ha!_ ) had covered his eyes with one hand and looked about ready to chew right through his lip. Not that he was in any danger of coming before the exact moment he wanted to, but _compromised_ looked as good on him as those tiny, tight briefs.

Hank, the sneaky fuck, had never let on that he was a deepthroat champ, but now he had Connor by either side of his unzipped pants, the fabric bunched in his gigantic hands, and was using the leverage to haul Connor deeper into his gullet.

Gavin thought he might cry.

“Hank... _Hank_ ,” Connor nearly sobbed. “Feels so good.”

Even with his throat stopped up, or at least halfway blocked, Hank managed a low, dark hum. The audio nodes picked it all up perfectly. Someone made a truly pathetic squeaky sigh. It could have been either Connor or Gavin; his brain was already so destroyed that there was no telling.

“ _Please...wait. Hank, please_.” Connor was falling to pieces like a knockoff Jenga set.

On the other side of the thin wall, Gavin felt good and ready to watch him lose his shit and then promptly power-spray the viewscreens with come. But Hank actually _did_ stop, pulling away slowly with his soft pink tongue pushed out over his bottom lip so he gave one last stroke to the underside of Connor’s cock, and at the same time let whole waterfall of spit-filled spunk dribble onto the floor by his knees.

Gavin name-dropped every god he could think of.

With a wicked grin on his shining lips, Hank looked past Connor’s hip, tapped twice with his fingertip on the wall, then curled the finger up.

Couldn’t be more obvious who the gesture was meant for.

Relieved and so turned on his teeth chattered, Gavin didn’t even bother trying to stuff his cock back in his pants before making his mad dash from the observation cubby to Interview Two.

_Happy Pre-Come Surprise to whoever uses that doorknob next..._

After swiping the back of his hand over his mouth, Hank said, “Figured you wouldn’t make it for long.”

The older version of Gavin would have been insulted enough to wilt his boner. Luckily, _that_ guy wasn’t in the picture anymore. “Whatever,” he panted. “This is hot as _balls_.”

“Lock that door,” Hank told him. Grabbing Connor’s chin, he said, “This one’s still gonna get his pretty little mouth fucked, just not by me.”

Not even accidentally biting the inside of his cheek could calm Gavin down. He could feel the throbbing ache in his cock all the way up to his waist. “You...you want to watch?”

“Oh, I won’t just watch,” said Hank. “Remember the first time we all got together?”

_Yes, oh yes. Gavin sure did._

Connor did, too, because he let go of a sleazy little _Mmm_ noise and turned to get his hand around Gavin’s cock. Hank pushed on his back until he was bent at the waist, his mouth right at primo sucking height. And damn if he hadn’t swallowed Gavin to the root even before Hank tugged Connor’s pants around his knees and and started unbuckling his own belt to release the Kraken.

Even through the fuck fog, Gavin was impressed that Connor didn’t back away or falter when Hank started working his blue-ribbon cock in. He just dug his fingertips into Gavin’s thighs, that throat working around nearly his entire length.

Hank bottomed out with a teensy flicker of pleasure. But before he started thrusting, he locked eyes with Gavin.

If Gavin hadn’t already known that look meant filthy promises, he would have believed Hank planned to murder him after he busted his nut. Probably without even stopping to pull his dick out of Connor.

“You come before I do, boy,” Hank said in that vicious rumble, “I’ll whip that ass till you cry. And I’ll invite him to watch.” He stroked Connor’s back with a killer smile, then gave a pinch to his stuffed ass.

Gavin’s heart dropped straight into his ballsack. Dom Hank had come roaring back, and just then Gavin knew with a combination of terror and glee that there was _no way_ he’d last long enough to neutralize the threat. He was speechless until Connor, still sucking away, had the sense to goose his ass and get him talking.

“Yes, sir,” he managed in a thick voice. He added, “I understand.”

“We’ll see,” said Hank.  

For a while, thank you Jesus, he said nothing else. They were all trying to keep the noise down, but dick-teasing pops and slaps and slippery sounds still floated into the room.

Just when Gavin had a rhythm he thought he could hang onto until the end, Hank started yapping again. “Pretty impressive,” he said in a tone that _very much_ said he didn’t plan to stop there. “But this old man’s got a few years and a whole lot of fucking on you, kid. Whatever you’re thinking, I guarantee you’re wrong. You’re gonna end up bent over a table with your tight little ass red as an apple. Gonna take my sweet time jerking off over it, and if I hear a single peep about it, I’ll spank you all over again. You won’t sit right for a week.’

Gavin groaned. He tried to sneak fingers around the base of his cock to hold off the inevitable, but Hank gave him a death glare.

“Hell,” he growled, “I’ll bet you’re the kind of slut who’ll come if I just beat that ass long enough.”

“ _Hank_ —”

“Don’t interrupt me.” Still managing to stare Gavin down, he reached one crazy huge hand around Connor’s hip and gave his cock a squeeze. “After I come all over your busted-up ass, Connor here is going to be a good little whore and lick it up.”

_Yep, that was all she wrote._

If it had only been Hank spewing dirty talk, he might have been okay, but Connor’s tight throat and Gavin’s own dick betrayed him at the same time. “Shit, _fuck!_ No—” he said, _way_ too loudly, then slapped a hand over his traitorous yap and came hard, pumping into Connor’s gullet.

When he stopped twitching like a rat on an electric fence, Gavin heard Hank’s evil chuckle.

“Called it,” he said.

Wrung dry as a rag, Gavin swayed on his feet as Hank rammed Connor then let loose himself. A second after, Connor finally got to come, too. He practically soaked Gavin’s shoes, but at that point Gavin was too blissed out and excited about the next session to care.

 

**

 

Things went so swimmingly in the days following that Gavin didn’t notice he’d turned into some alternate-reality, happy-slappy chipper fuck until two people in one day pointed it out. Not in a bad way—just a little smugly, as those two people happened to be Tina and Captain Fowler.

The Cap, big and bald and smelling slightly of that cheap grocery store brand of stink-stopper with the pirate ship on the box, grabbed him by the arm after a morning briefing. Gavin wasn’t really a snob when it came to grooming products, but he’d always used the natural stuff because he’d get a rash in his pits if he cheaped out. Even before he was _sensitive_ , he was, well...sensitive.

“You were five minutes early today,” Fowler said, low and gruff like it was some kind of secret.

“That a problem?” asked Gavin.

Letting go of his arm, Fowler shook his head. “Nope. Just wondering who _you_ are and what the fuck you did with Gavin Reed.”

While O.G. Gav would have sneered, Gav The Second burst out laughing. “He’s still around. I kicked his ass a little.”

That earned a stare from under Fowler’s heavy eyebrows. “Or someone else did.”

Gavin fielded a tiny spike of panic. “What’s that mean?”

All at once, Fowler let up. He grinned and slapped Gavin’s shoulder. “Not a thing,” he said. “Don’t personally care if you found Jesus in your pancakes. I’m just happy you’re not a miserable fuck anymore.”

“No,” Gavin said with a little bit of wonder, “I guess I’m not.”

“So you and your man good?”

“Yeah, _they_ are.”

Fowler nodded. “Not a man?”

“Oh,” said Gavin. “I meant not _just_ one.”

At that, the captain turned and threw his hands up in the air with a noise that fell somewhere between _impressed_ and _disgusted_. “Got-damn youngsters,” he said, sounding more amused than anything. “Sometimes I swear the ones of you that never saw the twentieth century got brain issues they ain’t identified yet.”

“Yeah, we do,” Gavin said with a laugh. He wasn’t about to spill that one of his “men” was about Fowler’s age, anyway. The Cap’s wife would be lucky to have a man with Hank’s libido...then again, she might. Gavin didn’t really want to know. Sure, Fowler seemed to have taken an interest in him lately, but it sure wasn’t the _Hank_ kind.

There was a big, big, _necessary_ difference between _father_ and _Daddy_.

Later the same day, Gavin was busy carefully tapping powdered creamer from the huge bulk store-sized carton into a manageable jar when he got a christing kung fu thump between his shoulder blades. Creamer went all over the sink and counter; it looked like the evidence room after a bender (okay, fine, that was a cop-movie stereotype…but Gavin had definitely _once_ ganked a couple of uppers from a stash post-raid).

Tina’s voice sounded from behind him. “Stop that, you goddamn ray of sunshine.”

Slightly annoyed, he turned around. “What? It sucks ass pouring it out of this huge thing.”

“That’s what she said,” Tina snapped back. “And I meant the whistling. Sounds like a motherfucking Disney film in here.”

“Wha... _huh?_ ” Gavin hadn’t realized he’d been whistling, because he honestly didn’t know he _could_.

_He’s evolving, gentlemen. We’re not sure how, and when_ — _or if_ — _it will end. All we know at this point is that good communication and top-quality dick can give a guy superpowers. It starts with things you’d barely notice: thicker hair, better muscle tone, the sudden ability to whistle…_

Tina’s smack this time came upside his head. “Snap out of it, Sleeping Beauty.” Her adorable little face was all scrunched up, her mouth turned down.

Gavin shook off his little impromptu fantasy full of geneticists in lab coats. “The fuck?” He shook vanilla-flavored dust off his hands. “What crawled up your snatch and died?”

She didn’t give in to the urge to smile, but she backed down a little. “That’s my natural musk, I’ll have you know.”

It was Gavin’s turn to grimace. “Ew.”

“What? Like gross, sweaty balls smell better! Have you ever even sniffed a puss?”

“Um...actually, no.”

Tina scowled. “Gold star for you, then.”

“Are you mad that I’m getting laid and you’re not?” Gavin asked. “Is that it?”

Pouting a little, Tina crossed her arms and said, “No.”

Gavin raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”

“I _mean_ it,” she said. “I don’t want to get laid. I tried it a few times, but it’s not my thing. I just want to not be…”

Even though he knew he was probably in for another smack, Gavin ventured, “A miserable cunt?” To his enormous surprise, Tina sighed.

“Yeah,” she said. “A miserable cunt.”

Bumping the handle to turn the tap on and rinse his hands, Gavin asked, “Why do you talk about sex so much if you don’t even like it?”

She rolled her eyes. “‘Cause that’s what cops _do_. We talk about booze, fucking, and murder.”

Gavin gaped a little. “You don’t drink, either?”

Tina shoved him, jostling his hand against the faucet and spraying water into the lumps and drifts of creamer. “Of course I drink, dumbshit!” The look in her eyes said she’d probably murdered someone to hit the cop trifecta. “But I do other things, too.”

“Like what?”

“I play basketball.”

“You—” Gavin started.

_Muggsy Bogues._

“You should tell me when your next game is,” he said, hella proud of the quick recovery. “I bet you’re really good.”

She shrugged. “I play at the Y sometimes.”

“How come you don’t do the squad games?” asked Gavin.

“I know they’ll say I’m too small.”

“Uh, I think you might be surprised.” Though she didn’t look too convinced, he decided to keep bugging her about it until she signed up. Which sort of brought up another idea. “Hey, you got an hour or so free for lunch one of these days? Might have someone interested in meeting you.”

“Oh, _fuck_ no,” Tina said. “With your taste, I’m not letting you set me up.”

“Hey,” Gavin said, defensive now. “Connor is classy as shit. And Hank, too, actually.”

Her eyes went so wide she looked like one of those weird bear-mouse rodents that hung on trees in the rainforest. “ _Anderson?_ You’re fucking _A_ —”

Gavin clapped a sticky hand over her mouth. “Please, _please_ don’t tell anybody. If this gets out, I’ll have to transfer.” For good measure, he waited until she nodded to take the hand away.

Spitting, Tina wiped the back of her hand over her lips. “Gah. Looks like jizz.”

“Your mom looks like jizz.”

“My mom _was_ jizz. And so was yours.”

Not _exactly_ right, if Gavin had as much of a handle on biology as he thought he did, but he let it go. “Seriously,” he said. “Keep that on the down low. I owe you.”

Tina managed to look at least halfway exasperated. “You owe me your firstborn child by now, Gav-a-roonie. Take off your shirt and you’re the _literal_ poster boy for fraternization.” Another shake of her head. “Completely dickmatized.”

“I’ll get you back,” Gavin said. “Promise. Come to lunch.”

“Fine,” said Tina. “What flavor is it?”

“Uh, Greek?”

“No, I mean the date. Is it boy flavor, girl flavor, somethin’ else?”

With a chuckle, Gavin said, “Oh. Boy flavor. And not really a date. Just a chat. But he _is_ Greek.”

“Hm,” Tina said. “Hairy. But as long as he smells better than you, it’s okay.”

“Hey, I smell amazing.”

“You smell like Coachella.”

“Take that back, you bitch!”

“Fine. Coachella without the human feces.”

“Thank you.”

Tina sighed, letting her shoulders relax. “Okay, patchouli boy. I’m out. Tell me when you wanna do lunch.”

“You’re not gonna help me clean this up?”

“Pfft.” Tina sneered. “What am I, your maid?” She pivoted and walked right out of the kitchenette, leaving Gavin to mop up his powder explosion.

Oh, well. He was in a good enough mood that it kind of didn’t matter.

 

**

 

A day or so later, Gavin did a double-take walking by Hank’s desk when he saw the ruler had disappeared. Did someone say something?

_Did Tina?_

Had he just put in in a drawer?

_Was he backing out?_

Just when Gavin was starting to panic that the thing with the belt had put Hank off the idea of doling out ass-beatings altogether, a message popped up on his phone.

 

_Thought I forgot?_

_Interview Five NOW_

_Drop what you’re doing_

_Don’t make us wait_

_-Daddy_

 

Gavin ran to dump the full cup of coffee he’d just doctored up down the sink, then slammed his mug on the counter and hightailed it toward the interview suite.

_Oh, halle-fucking-lujah._

His heart had trampolined into his throat at _Daddy_ , but it started knocking on his brainstem when he realized Hank had typed “Don’t make _us_ wait.” That, of course, meant Connor—and an audience.

At the same time that shame went blazing up from below Gavin’s shirt collar and tingled across his face, his dick was draining the rest of him like a goddamn sinkhole. He was surprised he had enough blood left in his body to blush when he skidded to a stop in front of Interview Five.

There was no immediate sign of Connor when Gavin opened the door, making him pause for half a second. Seemed to be just Hank sitting in a chair, looking at him like a lion stares at the slowest tourist on the safari. But when he stepped inside, he saw that Connor was standing in the corner, hands behind his back and naked from the waist down, his pants and shoes in a neat little pile to the side. Not exactly a dignified position, but the bastard looked smug anyhow. No shame.

Maybe a little while back, Gavin would have wished all of his dirty yearnings didn’t embarrass him like they did. But he was getting more and more okay with being excited by his own humiliation.

“Meant what I said the other day,” Hank drawled, leaning back and looking totally assured. “Every bit of it. Or maybe you were thinking I’d just forget everything I told you I was going to do to you if you disobeyed me. Were you?”

“No, sir.”

“Try that again.”

Gavin shrunk back a little. “No...Daddy?”

“Good boy,” Hank said. Then he grinned and it was downright wicked. “But you aren’t really a good boy, are you?”

Gavin practically felt his cock thump against his fly like a doorknocker. “No, Daddy.”

Hank picked something up off the table. It was the ruler, and that fucker looked _heavy_.

It had never occurred to Gavin to give it a heft beforehand.

Waving it toward Connor, Hank said, “He’s not, either. Got a couple of disobedient little shits on my hands here. Since he’s a special case, he’s gonna stand there while I handle you. Not only is he not allowed to come, he’s not allowed to _get hard_. Otherwise, I will absolutely take this belt off and use it. Only I won’t be nice and double it over this time.”

Gavin shuddered. If that had been _nice_ , he really wasn’t anxious to find out what the opposite was.

Sure enough, though, Connor looked game as fucking Monopoly. He shivered and whimpered and bit his lip. Might have been a cock twitch in there, maybe not.

Still pointing the ruler in Connor’s direction, Hank asked, “Is that correct, boy?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Oh, Gavin was feeling _done for_ already. Having Connor call _him_ “Daddy” had made him blow his load right away. Hearing him say it to Hank made Gavin brace for sudden cardiac arrest.

Fuck it, he’d shuffle off the mortal coil happy as a pig in shit. He jumped when Hank slapped the ruler down on the metal tabletop again.

“All right, you,” he said to Gavin. “Shoes, pants, underwear—it all comes off. Fold it and put it over there.” He pointed toward Connor’s discarded clothes. “Don’t just throw ‘em or I’ll give you extra.”

Swallowing hard, Gavin said, “Yes, Daddy.” He shucked his clothes from the waist down as fast as he could, already so pathetically hard that he’d leaked a wet patch and soaked right through the front of his boxers.

“Good God, look at you,” Hank said. There was a little bit of pride behind the sharp tone and Gavin soaked it up like a lizard under a heat lamp. “Might think you don’t even see this as punishment.” Another evil smile. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna. Get over here.”

Gavin padded over on the cold tile, aching to touch himself already, snag a little relief. Hank apparently had other plans.

“That’s why we’re going to start you over my knee with the hand before you even get a taste of that.” He nodded toward the ruler. “‘Cause if you don’t come while I’m beating your ass raw, you don’t come at all.”

The air left Gavin’s lungs, along with some kind of dying donkey noise. In the periphery, he caught sight of Connor trying not to squirm.

Hank took advantage of the delay to grab Gavin’s wrist _hard_ and yank him forward, off balance. “You hear me, boy?”

“Uh...ah...yes, Daddy.” The grip around his wrist loosened briefly.

“Okay, baby,” Hank said. “Let’s put on a show. See how good you can be for me, sweetheart.”

It would have been both embarrassing and amazing if Gavin had just come right there, spattering Hank’s lap because of those few soft words. He’d probably get double the pain after, but it’d be totally worth it.

Thank fuck he held on, though. His cock leaked a little onto the cold floor at his bare feet, but he wasn’t quite ready to blow.

Hank clamped down again on Gavin’s wrist and dragged him over his knees, manhandling him precisely enough so his cock ended up trapped and dripping right between those meaty thighs.

It was a whole lot less stable than being on a couch, even with the tips of Gavin’s toes and fingers touching the floor. If he’d _maybe_ thought the awkward position meant Hank got less power behind his hand, he was _dead wrong_. Not just his ass but his whole body quivered with each strike, sweaty fingertips and and the balls of his feet skidding back and forth in crazy little jags over the tile.

He’d gone a couple minutes just letting out puffs of air as Hank’s fucking two-by-four of a hand came down. Those became hisses as the sting rose up and spread. Gavin clamped his lips shut to keep the little cries from leaking out, but eventually he was giving a short holler with every single smack, screwing his eyes shut and trying to grip at the floor. After a particularly brutal one cracked down on the outside edge of his left cheek, he grabbed on instinct at Hank’s ankle.

“Oh, did you want to stop?” Hank asked, all singsongy-dangerous.

“N-no, Daddy. I’m sorry.” Gavin’s nose was running. He swiped his hand underneath it, making his whole body wobble.

Hank let out a grunt, unsatisfied. “You sure are. And you’re gonna get a lot _more_ sorry before I’m done.” Out of nowhere, he pinched the fullest point of Gavin’s right butt cheek hard between two knuckles, making him yelp and squirm. “On your feet, now,” said Hank. “Go on.”

The best Gavin could do was half-lift, half-slide off Hank’s lap. His bones felt like Jell-o. Moving around made the sore, puffy skin of his ass stretch and ache. Even still, his cock was throbbing—rigid and flushed dark and possibly even more painful right then than his tenderized butt.

Hank did a quick check that Gavin _was_ turned on, which Gavin was grateful for. He shot a glance at Connor in his spot in the corner. His lips were pink and wet, his eyes huge. Even though he still wasn’t hard, his cock leaked clear fluid in a thin strand onto the floor.

Catching Hank looking his way, too, Connor said, “Please…”

A sigh from Hank. “Your memory’s not very good, is it, boy? I said you’re not to get hard until I tell you. If you think you’re suffering now, try me. I dare you.”

That was met with a whimper. Again, Connor’s cock might have twitched slightly, but he held himself back.

Gavin found it ferociously fucking hot that someone besides him had an itch that could only be scratched with a good thrashing.

“Keep those hands behind your back,” Hank growled at Connor. “I want you on your knees now. And no more bitching and whining. Got it?”

Even though the next noise Connor made was _definitely_ a whine, he followed it up with a pouty-sounding, “Yes, Daddy.”

Gavin’s dick made sure he knew it still needed attention. He could hardly blame it—slutty, subservient Connor was guaranteed boner fuel. A glance at Hank as he stood up and brushed off his pants showed a thick hard-on straining behind his fly.

Obviously, making the two of them beg and squirm turned him on like crazy, too.

“You,” Hank said, turning back to Gavin, “bend over that table. All the way. Put your hands flat and your ass in the air.”

Heart thumping with anticipation (and feeling his heartbeat in the stinging skin of his ass), Gavin obeyed. He’d barely gotten into position when Hank put a broad hand on the middle of his back and pushed his chest down to the tabletop. He was damn glad he at least still had his shirt on, because the metal was _cold_ —horny-as-hell full-body flush or no.

There was a sliding sound next to his elbow—Hank picking up the ruler—and a second later, a stiff, flat surface was tapping at the insides of his thighs.

“Spread ‘em,” Hank said. Then, after Gavin had scooted his feet outward a little: “More.”

Gavin was on display to the room, open and waiting, and he was fucking _dizzy_ with the need to come. Jesus, he really hoped he could. He let out a thin wail as the narrow but hefty ruler was stroked over his cheeks one more time, the wood feeling cool because of his flaming skin. A second’s pause, then... _snap!_

He pulled in a squeaky wheeze. The sting was smaller but way sharper than a hand. It didn’t really move out into an even burn, either, just kind of hung out in one place and set Gavin’s teeth on edge. That turned out to be pretty much the case going forward, and Hank _knew_ it, because he was working the whole area again—from the tender tops of both Gavin’s ass cheeks to the crease below.

Damn if he didn’t start sniffling and whimpering when Hank moved right on down and started slapping the shit out of his legs above the knee. Hank was breathing faster, but Gavin could barely hear it over his own gasping and whining.

He shouted right out loud when the heavy ruler thwacked down on the _inside_ of his thigh. It was a whole new, fresh angle on the sting, but damn if his cock didn’t pulse and dribble from it. Without even realizing, he started pushing his hips forward, looking for friction that wasn’t there.

A smug-sounding noise from Hank behind him, who went on to wallop the bejesus out of the other thigh, so close to Gavin’s balls that he could feel the swish of air. Right when the burn sank in, a very familiar tingling started creeping up from his knees and down through his hips.

He forced another strangled sound through his stopped-up throat. “ _Please_.”

“Oh, did Daddy hit the right spot?” Hank asked, sounding amused. And more than a little turned on.

Gavin sounded like a badly mounted bike wheel, but didn’t give a rat’s ass. “Yeah. Don’t stop. Please.”

“‘Please’ what?”

“ _Please, Daddy._ ”

There came that crafty little chuckle, a moment before the ruler smacked into that tender stripe of skin on Gavin’s inner thigh once again. Right, then left, then right again. The tingle became a fizz, like somebody shook a bottle of Coke until it was ready to blow.

_Gavin_ was ready to blow, too. Amazing, unbelievable. A goddamn miracle.

One more solid whack to the inside of his left thigh and it was go time. Gavin scrabbled at the tabletop, his short fingernails shrieking on metal. He was pretty sure he shrieked, too, as he let loose and sprayed the floor with hard-earned, high-velocity spunk.

Somewhere in his orgasm-fuzzy mind, he registered the sound of the ruler clattering to the floor. There was a heavy hand on his back a second later, the hot palm sweating through his t-shirt.

Hank growled low in his throat and yanked his zipper down so hard it sounded like he’d broken it. Only a few seconds of meaty slapping followed as he jerked his huge cock.

Then fingertips dug into Gavin’s back and Hank groaned and promptly coated Gavin’s throbbing ass with hot spurts. It hurt like hell and it was lethally sexy.

After catching his breath, Hank called to Connor. “Come here. Don’t stand up. You crawl over for your reward. Under the table first, then you clean Gavin up. _Then_ you get to come. Okay, gorgeous?”

“Yes, Daddy.” Connor’s voice was much closer.

Gavin jumped a little when he felt a warm finger stroke his ankle. Connor must have stopped to nuzzle Hank’s leg, too; Gavin felt him bend down to ruffle all that shiny, dark hair.

“You can get hard now, baby,” he said.

The quick, passing kiss Connor planted on Gavin’s calf as he slipped underneath the table made Gavin shiver with pleasure. He freaked out for a second or two about Connor putting his tongue all over that filthy floor, but then he remembered androids didn’t get diseases. Connor might even have told him that he could kill germs with his mouth, but he couldn’t quite remember.

Gavin’s breathing had fogged the metal tabletop, and there was a lot more spit puddled under his cheek from non-stop drooling. All he could hear in the room was _Hank’s_ breath, right before Connor placed gentle hands on either side of his hips and began to swab Hank’s come away with his warm tongue. The trails of wetness it left cooled in the air of the room and felt amazing.

When Connor was finished, he kissed right over Gavin’s tailbone, then braced his hand there as he stood upright.

“Go on, honey,” Hank urged.

Connor didn’t even need to stroke himself to get off; he just came right away, pouring a whole chorus of helpless little noises over Gavin’s back.

He was expecting to feel the splash of liquid, but there was nothing.

_Oh, yeah. Right._ Connor could choose not to shoot anything at all.

“I...hope my choice was acceptable, Hank,” Connor said, sounding a little dazed. “It seemed foolish to create more mess than necessary.”

Hank chuckled. He patted Connor’s back. “Good thinking. Shit, I would have been way better off in middle school if I didn’t have to blow an actual wad every time I came. My sheets woulda been better off, too.”

“Same here,” Gavin croaked. There were four warm hands on his back at once.

“Can you stand up, babe?” Hank asked gently.

“Uh-huh.” He mostly made it, too. Not having a slick pool of android jizz on the floor around his feet certainly helped.

Hank pulled him into a close hug, crushing his face up against his chest and landing a kiss right on his sweaty hair. “You did good,” he said. “You looked incredible. Both of you did.” He laughed again. “Didn’t want to push our time limit here, but Connor, you just let me know if you need a good strapping on company time, too.”

Connor voiced a contented noise.

“Daddy’s always up for a little action,” Hank said. It had absolutely none of the threat that his Big Bad Dom tone did, but it still sounded blazing hot.  

“No shit,” Gavin said, now thoroughly worn out.

“Take an aspirin and drink some water, huh?” Hank ruffled _his_ hair, too.

When Connor walked over to get the rest of his clothes, Gavin leaned toward Hank’s ear and asked softly, “Think you could come by later with some of that stuff you had?” He felt the prickle of beard as Hank kissed his temple.

“Sure, kid. I can do that.”

 

**

 

One good thing about that morning’s little session: the fact Gavin’s ass felt like raw hamburger inside his jeans kept him distracted enough not to wonder if he smelled like rancid fuck sweat. It would have been hella nice to go home and chill on the couch with his pants down for a while, but he owed Tina a visit to the diner.

Hopefully it had been so long for her she’d forgotten the scent of previously mentioned fuck sweat.

_Fat chance, of course_.

Tina wrinkled her nose as soon as she got within range. “Tap-dancing _Christ_. You smell like moldy jock strap.”

Trying to hide his sudden blush, Gavin sniped, “Sniffing a lot of those lately?”

“Hell, no. But saying ‘you smell like a sourdough starter’ makes me sound too goddamn domestic.”

“The fuck is a ‘sourdough starter?’”Gavin asked.

Tina socked him in the back, right over his kidney.

At least she hadn’t smacked his ass.

“You’re a philistine. Who smells like a Band-Aid in a bag of Fritos.”

“You done?”

Tina gave him a sly look. “I could go on.”

Narrowing his eyes, Gavin said, “Then no meet and greet for you. Enjoy dying alone.” Right when he thought that might have been a _teensy_ bit over the line, Tina burst out laughing.

“Yeah, yeah. Fine, fine,” she said. “Let’s go meet your friend.”

Gavin scratched his head, stalling a little. “He’s not my friend, really. Um, I think I embarrass him.”

Tina turned and put her tiny, cool hands on Gavin’s cheeks. “Gav. Honey. _Sweetcakes_. You embarrass _everyone_.”

She sure was testing his limits, but New, Improved Gavin still ended up winning out. With a sigh, he said, “Fair enough. Just put a hustle on it. I want some goddamn _moussaka_.”

Inside the diner it was right at the tail end of lunch rush, and Demetrios was out bussing tables. He took one look at Gavin, dropped a nearly unfinished milkshake into the plastic tub he was carrying, and booked it back into the kitchen like his ass was on fire.

Knowing as much about Demetrios as he did—and about most people—Gavin was fairly sure his was the only ass in the vicinity that was actually on fire.

Toula came out from behind the counter, wiping completely clean hands on a completely clean apron. “Hello, _glike mu_. You keep bringing me friends, yeah?”

After suffering through the cheek pinch, Gavin said, “Toula, this is Tina. We work together.”

Toula stepped back, putting both hands on her hips as she looked Tina up and down. “Tina, eh?” She squinted. “Pretty girl. Listen to me, Tina. I know men—they are not good, yeah? But you get more boyfriend if your face is not always like you find a dead rat in your soup. Okay?”

For a split second, Gavin was terrified.

Then Tina’s doggy-bark of a laugh made the other diners stop chatting and stare. Someone dropped a utensil onto their plate.

“Aw, _shit_ ,” Tina said, pointing at Toula with one thumb. “I like her!”

“There we go!” Toula shouted. “A nice smile. What you need?” she asked Tina. “Hamburger? You are a little too skinny, yeah?”

Gavin cleared his throat. “Actually, I was hoping we could talk to Demetrios. Or, uh, _she_ could.”

Behind Toula’s exaggerated look of curiosity was a tiny bit of hope.

Suddenly Gavin felt bad for her.

“What you want to talk about with my boy?” she asked.

“Anything but fucking,” Tina told her.

Cue freaked-out Gavin again, practically choking while Toula let things sink in for the longest two seconds in human history.

Then her big, brown eyes got even bigger. She lunged forward quickly enough to make Tina flinch, grabbing her wrist. “Oh!” Toula said. “You are one like my boy, yes?” Shocking everyone, she actually kissed Tina’s hand. “I tell him, ‘Demi, you don’t like the _streidia_ , you don’t like the _melitzána_ —you don’t find anybody who like you!’ I think, you know, he will be alone for his life, working in the diner with Mamma. No boy want that, yeah? Well, maybe some boy, they want that. But usually they are ugly, have the pimples, yeah? Drink too much soda.”

Gavin snorted, failing to hide it with a pathetic fake sneeze.

Honestly, Tina was holding together pretty well considering the force of fucking nature that was Toula. She was still letting the small (well, small _er_ ) tornado of a woman hold her hand and pat it furiously.

“My Demi,” Toula said, “he’s good looking. Promise. You come. We’ll go find him in the back. He hides because Mamma and Gavin here—always we _only_ talk about fucking!”

Most of the patrons were either flat-out staring or getting up to leave. Good ol’ Toula was her own worst enemy, but Tina wasn’t much better off.

And, to be fair, until a couple months ago, Gavin had been accidentally kicking his own dumb ass for years.

Tina managed to shoot him one final _If this is a clusterfuck I’ll ruin your life_ look before getting dragged away.

Half nervous and half amused, Gavin slipped into a booth— _very_ carefully—glad that Tina wasn’t around to see him wince and gnaw the inside of his cheek at placing his busted ass on any surface. He was really looking forward to Hank’s visit and his magic salve.

Toula was shaking her head when she came out of the back, but Tina wasn’t with her. Maybe a good sign? She plopped down right across from Gavin. “This girl, she say what she thinks. Reminds me of...me!” A loud and completely joyful laugh. She poked a finger at Gavin’s face; it was dry from washing dishes, the nail cut short. “Also _my_ father says to me long ago, ‘Toula, you will never find a man to put up with your mouth!’ Joke is on Pappa, though. My Kostas, he barely talk! Fine to let me do all the talking, yeah? We have two good sons, good kids. And _maybe_ Demetrios, too, if he work out with this Tina.”

“Are you still together?” Gavin asked. “I mean, you and your husband?”

“Ah, no,” Toula said. “Kostas is dead now, ten years. But I have my kids. Grandkids, too. And my friends.” Her hand whipped out from underneath the table like a cobra for a deadly cheek pinch. “Like you!”

“Hey, Toula,” he said, rubbing the tweaked spot, “what does  _streidia_ mean?”

“Ah,” she said, a wicked twinkle in her dark eyes. She put her hands together—the heels and the fingertips touching but parted in the middle, making an almond shape. “That is oyster. You know, the kind in the pants!”

Screwing up his face for a second, Gavin said, “Yeah, got it. So _melitzána_ …”

Toula made a circle with her fingers and moved it up and down in the air—the universal _jack-off_ gesture. “Yes, eggplant. Like for _moussaka_.” Then she reached across and poked Gavin in the chest. “Like _Gavin_ likes.”

“You mean food, or…?”

Toula pursed her lips and winked. “I mean what I mean.” She slapped the table with both palms. “I get you food. Eggplant, but the baked kind. The other kind you eat at home...or you get arrested!”

 

**

 

Gavin had a little spring in his (sore-ass) step heading up the path to his front door. Hank was headed over _and_ he’d been forced to leave Tina at the diner. She’d barely waved to him between shoveling bites of key lime pie in her face and yapping with Demetrios about the Pistons’ playoff bid.

It felt nice playing Cupid, not to mention that Toula had been over the damn moon.

Even though he wasn’t about to judge, for Gavin, it felt weird thinking about going on a date with or hitting on somebody that he didn’t eventually want to bone. Then again, you either have something or you don’t. Tina and Demetrios weren’t really interested in bumping uglies, Gavin had never been interested in....uh, _oysters_...and had never pretended to be. Some people needed feelings before wanting to bang somebody.

Over the twenty years (holy _fuck_ that was a chunk of time) since Gavin first got his dick wet, feelings had never come into the equation. He hadn’t even realized before Connor—and Hank, for that matter—that fucking the right person for a while could make feelings magically appear. Could be that it took so goddamn long to figure it out because he hadn’t _been_ the right person, either.

Now, two objectively amazing dudes had dropped into his lap almost at the same time. Plus, doing what Captain Fowler did way back when—that is, deciding for once he wasn’t going to let things get fucked up—blew the doors off a kind of life Gavin had only seen by jumping up and trying to look over the wall standing in his way. All of a sudden, he was shitting sunshine. Getting mad respect at work, helping Tina out instead of just whining to her...oh, and pulling more high quality cock than a goddamn chicken farm.

He wasn’t totally sure, but it might be what other people talked about when they yammered about their kids and their anniversaries and their promotions. Gavin had bragged on other things: solid cases and epic fucks, and for a long time kind of thought it was the same thing. He’d tell himself _I want to be awesome._

What he’d really meant was _I want to be happy._

The thought caught him off guard right as he was brushing his teeth (before Hank came over but definitely after he’d given the welts on his butt a good once-over in the mirror and popped a stiffy in the process). And damned if it didn’t make him start leaking like bad plumbing, ending up bent over the sink spitting out toothpaste and crying and splashing his face to get rid of the snot.

He must have answered the door looking like a mess, too, because Hank frowned and put one of those outsize paws on his cheek.

“Everything okay?” Hank asked.

With another quick sniffle-and-swipe move, Gavin said, “Yeah, actually. Good.”

“Long as you’re sure.” When the door closed behind him, Hank pulled the little container out of his pocket and flashed that snaggletooth grin. “Let’s take a look at your back end, huh?”

Gavin, who had a long stretch of red and bruised-up skin down both thighs sticking out below the hem of his boxers, knew it was pretty rough. But everything felt better just having Hank there, even before he rubbed in the good stuff.

Hank settled him on the bed and turned on the ceiling fan, letting Gavin lie on his stomach.

Lucky break, because as soon as Hank started kissing the puffed-up welts, Gavin had to mash his face against the sheet and sneak out a little more crying. It definitely wasn’t as sneaky as he thought, either, because Hank patted his shoulder before dipping into his pot of magic goo and said, “Let it on out, sweetheart. You’re okay.”

The salve went on cool and tingly, taking that raw feeling down to a throb.

“Mm. Thanks,” Gavin slurred, half-lulled by the hands on his skin.

Hank capped the container and put it on the bedside table, then lay back, wiping off what was left on the sheet. He didn’t put up a fuss when Gavin rolled to his side and snuggled up into his armpit to rest his head on his shoulder.

It felt odd for a minute or two—Gavin wanting to say something but not knowing what and feeling too worn out to think too hard about it. After that, he got okay with lying there and breathing and feeling Hank breathe, hearing nothing but the swishy hum of the fan.

“This is nice,” Hank said after a while, kind of saying what Gavin thought out loud.

“Yeah,” Gavin said. “Pretty much everything is lately. With you and Connor. Or just you.”

Stirring a little, Hank turned his head. “And with just Connor?”

“Oh, yeah. For sure. Never been better.” He shut his mouth for a second, then said, “Sometimes it feels like…”

“Like something’s gonna fuck it up any second?”

Gavin was too startled to laugh. “Huh. Yeah. But, like, most of the time I’m too blissed out to care?”

Hank hummed deep in his barrel chest. “I never was good at this stuff. Probably still not. But I get the feeling that’s how it goes. And you can either jump in and enjoy the ride or try to slow things down, grabbing at stuff, and end up with your hands all torn up.”

Huffing, Gavin said, “Rather have my ass all torn up.”

Hank chuckled. “Believe me, I know.” After a pause, he said, “That was hot today. I wasn’t sure if you could do it, but damned if you didn’t.”

“Were you really going to make me leave without coming?” asked Gavin.

“Hell, yes I was. I don’t budge when I’m in that mode. I’d leave you and Connor both blue-balled and aching for the rest of the day.”

“Yeah, but _he_ can turn it off,” Gavin said, whining a little. “That’s not really fair.”

Hank rolled halfway onto his side. “He can, but he wouldn’t. Tell me it ain’t true. It turns him on.” He ruffled Gavin’s hair briefly and kissed his forehead. “Plus, he cares about you too much. He only wants to be different in the ways make it better for you.”

“Shit,” Gavin breathed. “You’re right.” He looked up. “But Connor wants things to be better for you, too.”

With a grin, Hank pushed the hair out of his face. “Oh, I know. I’m two hundred percent sure if you were okay with it, he’d go jack off in the bathroom.”

“What for?”

“To spite me,” Hank said. “So I’d have to haul him back to Interview Five and give him double the ass-whipping instead of going for round two on you.”

All Gavin could manage was _Damn_ , but he was equally turned on and touched that Connor would do something like that.

“I know,” Hank grumbled, though the irritation was only fake. “Last thing I expected out of middle age was wearing myself out on a horny goddamn robot.”

After a beat of silence, both Hank and Gavin cracked up. They let loose and shook the bed, Gavin’s head bouncing against Hank’s arm. How stupid it all looked and felt only made them laugh harder.

When he’d gotten control of himself, Gavin wiped his eyes for about the millionth time that day.

Hank was grinning at the ceiling.

Thinking about it, Gavin realized it hadn’t taken long at all for that grin to go from weirdly appealing to cute to flat-out _sexy_. The way he went about finding Hank attractive was the exact opposite of how it happened with Connor. Hell, Connor was hot and Gavin had been randy for him right out of the gate. With Hank—at least the older version—he’d been ready to tolerate whatever was attached to an amazing cock. But it turned out that most of it was nicer than Gavin had expected...and it kept getting better.

He bit his lip and skimmed a hand over Hank’s belly down to the _very_ noticeable bulge in his jeans. “You don’t _act_ worn out,” he said.

Turning to look past his shoulder, Hank said, “Well, you and Connor have kinda got me feeling like I have a new lease on life, you know? Gotta tell you, I almost turned you down that first time because I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to keep up. But I swear the more I fuck, the hornier I get.”

“Shit,” Gavin said, “I know that feeling.” And he squeezed.

Hank groaned and put his hand over Gavin’s, pressing it harder against his crotch.

“Let me help you,” Gavin said softly. One knuckle stroked gently against his temple.

“Go on, then,” Hank told him.

He sat up a little to undo Hank’s fly, then helped him push the jeans over his ass and down his thighs. The boxer briefs went not long after, as Hank was already filling out.

Gavin leaned right over Hank’s hip and fit his mouth over as much of that incredible cock as he could. The smell and the taste had his mouth watering before long; he caught the spit with his fingers and stroked it up and down. Every time he went down on Hank, he was surprised all over again at how fucking _much_ of him there was. If most guys were trawlers, and a few were cruise liners, Hank was a goddamn aircraft carrier.

_We’re gonna need a bigger boat_.

Gavin snickered, and covered it up by going deep and gagging himself. It was worth it, because Hank let out a rumbling groan and clutched at the back of Gavin’s neck.

“Hold on,” he gasped. “Hold on.”

Pulling off, Gavin let go of a decent-sized fall of spit that slid down Hank’s shaft and pooled at the base. “Is it good?”

“Real good, baby. Don’t worry. I was just thinking maybe you could put a finger in.”

“Yeah,” said Gavin. “Absolutely. Lemme grab the lube.” His heartbeat picked up and his cock twitched at the idea of sliding a finger into the same slick heat he’d felt a couple weeks ago.

Over the sound of rustling clothes, Hank said, “Damn convenient when Connor can just, like, _dispense_ it.”

When Gavin turned back, Hank was lying with his shirt rucked up above his hips, his pants and shoes on the floor, one hand holding his amazing cock upright. It wasn’t _really_ in danger of a whack from the ceiling fan, but the thing was so huge it sure looked close.

Gavin crawled right up between Hank’s thighs this time, now sporting a hard-on of his own. Apparently, it was time to get daring, too, because before doing anything else, he ran a hand right up underneath Hank’s shirt and plucked at one nipple.

Clearly, it was unexpected, but Hank’s face settled into a look of _want_ after the initial surprise.

Wetting his lower lip, Gavin upended the bottle of lube over his finger and let a little drain out. He had a bizarre (okay, not all that bizarre) urge to shove Hank over to one side and bury his face in that ass, getting a good whiff-and-taste of that been-in-the-pants-all-day man-funk. Oh, God, Tina was right—he was _truly_ disgusting.

Again, _Fuck_ and furthermore, _it_. Gavin would rather snuffle around in dude ass than talk about Detroit’s shitty basketball team...or do almost anything else, really.

Instead, he dipped his hand underneath Hank’s tightened-up balls, feeling for his mark. Even though he wanted to watch the expressions on his face, Gavin wrapped his other hand back around the largest natural feature in Michigan—besides the lake—and swallowed down as much as he could once again.

Wiggling that finger in was a lot easier this time, and Gavin got rewarded for it with a hot-as-fuck noise combined with Hank at the same time trying to push up into his mouth and push _down_ onto his hand.

Gavin hummed long and deep, aiming to feel it in his fingers. He did, and earned another gasp.

“Aw, fuck,” Hank breathed. “Like that, sweetheart. Just like that.”

By that time, _praise_ was just about tied with _eating ass_ on the list of Things Gavin Reed Could Live On. He felt a shudder of pleasure crawl down his spine and leak out of his dick into an expanding wet spot on the sheet between Hank’s meaty legs.

“Fuck...can’t believe it.” Hank squirmed and slid a thick fingertip right next to Gavin’s lips where they were stretched around his girth.

With a little regret, Gavin pulled off, licking away the traces of that salty-sour taste. “What do you need, Daddy?”

Hank winced at that, but it was clearly need and not awkwardness. He scrubbed a hand over his face, his cheeks pink above the gray scruff of beard. “It’s been so long I almost forgot. Gonna come way too fast here.”

“It’s okay,” Gavin said. “Wanna make you feel good.”

“Mm. Give me another finger,” said Hank. “And a little time to get used to it. Then you can finish me off. Okay, baby?”

Gavin was going to try for a sexy-pouty, Connor-style purr, and if it didn’t work...well, Hank would still get his rocks off. “Whatever you want, Daddy.” Since Hank had to reach down and squeeze his gigantic cock with his gigantic hand, groaning like he was in pain, Gavin counted it a success. He dabbed a little more lube on his second finger and held his breath while he slid into heavy, snug heat. It probably wasn’t possible for Hank to make any sound that qualified as “high-pitched,” but what came out of his mouth when Gavin pushed in to the knuckles was damn close.

“Does it hurt?” Gavin asked, almost whispering.

Shaking his head, Hank said, “No. Feels incredible. Just...don’t want to come quite yet.”

While Gavin was trying to decide if he was evil enough to crook his fingers a little bit, Hank sighed and relaxed slightly around them.

To keep him on his toes, Gavin drew the fingers nearly out and then pushed them back in with a wicked curl at the very end.

Hank arched up off the bed like a shot, hollering at the ceiling then letting out a stream of _fuck fuck fuck fuck_ while he clutched at the sheet.

It was really, _really_ hard to hold back a wicked grin. Gavin bit the inside of his cheek to keep his smile from spreading and did it again, getting pretty much the same jaw-dropping reaction. He made a silent bet with himself that he could make Hank come just by finger-fucking him, but that was one to put to the test later.

A warm, damp hand pawed at Gavin’s forearm.

“Suck me, honey,” Hank said in a stretched-out voice. “Want to come in that gorgeous mouth.”

His own cock throbbing painfully by that time, Gavin bent over one more time to take Hank in his mouth. He figured there was no need to help things along with his hand, and he was right. After ten or fifteen seconds of slow, shallow fucking with his fingers, Hank writhed and called out, his cock pulsing and spilling thick fluid over Gavin’s tongue. Gavin sucked it all to the back of his mouth and swallowed over and over, now using his free hand to milk him dry of every drop he had to offer.

By the end, Hank was left breathing hard.

Gavin laughed as Hank pushed him off his cock, too sensitive now to let Gavin keep torturing him with his tongue.

“Sweet _Jesus_.” Hank wiped a sparkly line of sweat away from his forehead. “ _Fuck_. C’mon up here, Gav. Plant that sweet ass right here.” He touched his lips, then shot Gavin a lazy smile.

Good and ready to go off himself, Gavin didn’t waste any time moving up and slinging one leg over Hank’s head. He was careful not to put his knee down in the tumble of gray hair falling across the sheet, but Hank wasted no time grabbing his hips with greedy hands and pulling him down onto his tongue.

Gavin yelled and ground down on Hank’s face, feeling the brush of his beard and the sharp chin underneath digging into his balls and upping the furious pressure there.

Hank put both monster hands on Gavin’s ass cheeks, making the welted skin there flare and burn again. He pushed him off his mouth for a split second, saying _Touch yourself_ in his thunder-rumble sex voice. Nothing short of a spinal injury would have stopped Gavin from jerking the turkey at that point, so it was no big thing to happily obey.

Hank plunged his tongue right back in and Gavin stroked his cock with his free hand braced against Hank’s hip bone. It took all of ten seconds before he was groaning and shooting off all over the curve of that belly, sending gouts right past Hank’s navel and into the thick trail of grayish hair leading down to his spent cock.

When Gavin had stopped shuddering and leaking, Hank gave another gentle push on his ass, kissed each cheek, then said, “Clean it up for me, gorgeous.”

With his head foggy and reeling, Gavin pitched forward and lapped up his still-warm spunk, making a detour now and then to flick his tongue over Hank’s cock where it lay all intimidating against his thigh. He’d ended the day just as he wanted: with a busted-up ass and a belly full of come, and ten seconds from falling asleep on top of Bear Mountain.

As he snuggled back into Hank’s damp, musky underarm, Hank gave a weary-but-satisfied sigh.

“Hey,” he said, “I think after that I might be ready to, you know, try things the other way around.”

Gavin squinted. “Just don’t suffocate me.”

With a hearty laugh, Hank shook his head. “No, not sitting on your face. I mean, I can do that. What I meant was... _dibs_.”

“Oh. _Oh_. You want me to...are you sure?”

Hank took a breath. “I think so. Weird as hell to say it still, but I trust you.”

Those weren’t words that Gavin heard very often. Actually, he didn’t think he’d _ever_ heard them...or any of those other _I [blank] you_ phrases, unless the blank was filled in with words that weren’t as nice. He almost snorted his eyeballs back into his skull while sniffling, trying to avoid yet another cry.

“Good,” he choked out.

Hank did him the favor of not making a big deal out of it. “And Connor, too, of course. Hope he won’t be too upset with me if I can’t fucking perform tomorrow. Not often I go twice in a day anymore.”

“Huh?” Gavin asked. “What’s tomorrow?”

“Oh,” Hank said, stroking the hair at the back of Gavin’s neck, “having Connor ‘round to my place to, uh, watch porn. He doesn’t know how to find the good stuff.” He paused. “You okay with that?”

Scratching lightly between Hank’s pecs, Gavin said, “Oh, yeah. Totally. But…”

“But what?”

“He probably can’t find anything good ‘cause he goes for the free shit and won’t steal it off the stream.”

Hank straight-up giggled at that. “Spot on, kid. Connor’s great, but he really is a fucking square sometimes.”

“‘Square?’” Gavin asked. “What, are you a hundred years old?”

With a huff, Hank said, “Sometimes I feel like it.”

“Well, you’re crazy sexy for a guy from, like, World War I.”

Hank groaned. “And _you’re_ awful sexy for a dumbass. World War II was the one a hundred years ago.”

Gavin poked him in the ribs. “I was exaggerating.”

“I wasn’t,” Hank said. He turned his head with a soft smile and ruffled Gavin’s hair. “Well, not about the sexy part.”

Shooting a smile right back, Gavin was fairly sure he couldn’t feel more on top of the world if he was planting a flag at the North fucking Pole.

 

**

 

Looked like Hank ended up not having anything to worry about as far as getting it up on Porn Night With Connor. Or so Connor told Gavin, and he wasn’t the type to lie.

_Fucking square_.

Gavin had to laugh because it was pretty far from the truth. He got an avalanche of tasty thoughts inspired by what Hank and Connor had apparently watched—and some even more delicious ones from picturing what they _did_. When Connor said that Hank had stuffed his boxer briefs into Connor’s mouth before fucking him hard over the kitchen counter, Gavin wasn’t sure if he was more turned on by the idea of getting bent over and rammed right in front of his kitchen window or drooling into a wad of fabric that had just been cradling Hank Anderson’s epic cock and balls while he did it.

Honestly, though, the whole rundown from start to finish had been hot because Connor had been yammering in Gavin’s ear about it while at the same time crushing Gavin into the mattress and fucking his ass steady as a wind-up toy.

Brand new kink: Boyfriend Number One pounding him while talking about _getting_ pounded by Boyfriend Number Two.

After Connor had gotten off, Gavin had been happy to turn the tables and yap about swilling Hank’s come with two fingers in his ass while Connor sucked him dry. Afterward, they’d traded Gavin’s taste back and forth with lazy kisses until it disappeared. Even later, with Connor lying back and his head propped up on Gavin’s belly, they brought up what all three had been dancing around for a while: either Connor or Gavin—or _both_ —sticking their dick in Hank for real.

It seemed pretty stupid to Gavin that both he and Connor were as nervous about it as they were. Nervous? Hell, flat-out scared.

Gavin figured he had a little bit of an excuse: Hank was bigger than him in pretty much every way. He was a tank compared to Connor, too, but Connor being able to rip a car in half or whatever more than evened those odds.

But while Hank could be rough, he was never _brutal_ , and Gavin and Connor agreed that he wasn’t the type to Hulk out over an awkward fuck.

What it all came down to—and Gavin should have figured this out way earlier—was the goddamn _feelings_. Being _vulnerable_ , like Tina said, which ended up requiring a way huger set of stones than your usual manly shit like shooting guns and waiting until you’re home alone in the shower to cry.

Old, Shitty Gavin had proven the point a few times—basically demanding to top the first time he and Connor got together, and then breaking down when he finally saddled up and rode the Hank Anderson Express.

Sure, it felt amazing, but even Gavin would admit it was hard to pretend you were invincible with a dick in your ass.

And in _exactly_ the same way he’d had to swallow his pride and talk to Connor instead of running away as usual, he’d just have to roll with it even if none of them knew how _Hank on bottom_ was going to turn out.

 

**

 

On the night of, Connor sprang for crazy expensive booze to make it feel special and ease everybody’s nerves. Weirdly, though, Hank turned it down. He said he wanted a clear head going into things.

While Gavin could respect it, for sure, he decided he needed some liquid courage and downed a shot before they made their way into the bedroom.

There were birds chirping and tweeting like crazy outside the window. With how on-edge it all felt, the noise was just an extra layer of _what the fuck_. The three of them ended up staring at each other with their clothes still on for a few long seconds before Hank spoke up and cracked the tension.

“Hey, if you two can ambush me in the goddamn break room asking for a fuck,” he said, “I’m pretty sure you can handle slippin’ the D to a rusty old switch.”

“I’m sorry, Hank,” Connor told him. “Gavin and I want this to be an enjoyable experience for you. Given your strong feelings at the beginning—”

Hank waved a hand gently, shutting Connor down. He was smiling, but it was a little sad. “I’m not sure how much it’ll help, but every other time, it only hit me hard because of my own decisions,” he said. “I don’t mean choosing to do it at all, but choosing to do it with people I didn’t respect. Or ones who were going to treat me like trash. I could have gotten myself out of it, too—by being big, or loud, or just walking away. But I stuck with the choice because...I guess I thought it was what I deserved for picking people like that in the first place.”

_Ooh, that hit Gavin in a sore spot somewhere, too_. Not too long ago, he’d been doing pretty shitty in the “taste in guys” department, whether he was fucking or getting fucked.

“Oh, Hank,” Connor said, moving close to slip his hand around the back of Hank’s broad back and lean against his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

When Hank put his arm around Connor’s waist, Gavin grabbed his free hand and held it. It was big, heavy, a little damp.

“ _I’m_ not sorry,” Hank said, giving Gavin’s had a small squeeze, “‘cause I think I finally got it right. Took a hell of a long time, but that doesn’t matter now. You two just being as worked up as you are about it makes me less nervous because, well, you actually give a shit.”

Connor tutted softly. “I would say, more than just ‘giving a shit,’ that we _care_.”

“Yeah,” Gavin said, trying to keep the quiver out of his voice. “That.”

“Good,” Hank said. He leaned over right into Connor’s adoring face and kissed him softly, then turned back to tip Gavin’s chin up and plant a sweet little kiss on his mouth, too. “Then let’s get this party started so we can all have a good time.”

With that irresistible smile of his, Connor slid one pale hand down to the front of Hank’s jeans. “We’ll take _such_ good care of you, Hank.” He stepped behind Hank’s back and used those deft, white fingers to start unfastening the jeans.

That, Gavin guessed, was his cue to move in close and get to unbuttoning Hank’s adorably ugly shirt. With his breath ruffling the thatch of gray chest hair, he helped Hank slide the shirt off his shoulders and toss it away (though it would have been funny if he’d dropped it right on Connor, who was on his knees helping Hank out of his shoes. Stuffing down the giggles for now, Gavin rucked up Hank’s undershirt to his armpits and tweaked both pink nipples, earning a soft exhale. While Hank was pulling the shirt off, Gavin dove in and closed his lips around the peak of one, swirling his tongue and even nibbling gently.

He was thrilled when Hank clutched the back of his head and gave a soft groan. While he was sucking and gnawing on the other nipple, Hank gasped and surged up, thumping Gavin in the nose with his beefy pec.

“Oh, Con— _fuck_ ,” Hank whispered, then said to Gavin: “Sorry.”

When Gavin snuck a peek, Connor was just where he thought he might be: crouched down behind Hank putting his incredible tongue to use. It wouldn’t be long before the sounds he made got loud, wet, and sloppy, and that meant Gavin was going to have to lose his own pants or risk crushing his seriously urgent hard-on.

“Hold up,” he whispered, tearing off his t-shirt and making quick work of the jeans and boxer briefs. He jumped and let out a squeak when he felt a giant, warm hand curl around his cock.

“You’re really excited about this, huh?” Hank asked. It wasn’t teasing or mean—he actually seemed touched.

Gavin—or at least his _brain_ —had no clue how to answer that, so he mumbled, “Want to make it good.” His cock, of course, was in for whatever happened. It made that clear by leaking a little in Hank’s grip, the strand of fluid sliding down over the back of his hand.

With a wicked look, Hank brought the hand up to his mouth and licked it clean.

_Oh, God, Gavin absolutely was going to embarrass himself_.

As they walked toward the bedroom, he swallowed hard and started spinning a fantasy in his head that he was being investigated by IA just to wilt the boner a little as he got ready to crouch down and choke on a little Monster Cock.

Hank made some sort of noise and hauled him back up, though, at the same time reaching back to try and fumble Connor away. He almost pulled everyone off balance and sent them crashing in a messy tumble to the bed. “This is gonna be a short fucking evening if you kids don’t calm down here,” he grumped.

Connor stood up, grinning, catching a swaying Hank at the waist with his rock-steady robo-hands. His lips and chin were slick with spit and it was so wickedly hot that Gavin had to grab his wrist and haul him over for a deep, musky, sloppy kiss.

With a wink and an adoring look, Connor leaned slightly to rest his head against Hank’s shoulder. “You taste incredible, Hank.”

Gavin let out a strangled little groan and kung fu-gripped his dick. What where the motherfucking chances of hooking up with a screaming hot android who loved eating ass just as much as he did? Time to concentrate on picturing suspension without pay instead of thinking about the odds of meeting a Smokin’ Bear Daddy who agreed to go switch only a couple days after whaling on his ass harder than a boxing champ on the heavy bag.

The only reason Gavin knew he hadn’t died was because they’d never let the asshole he’d been just a few months ago into Slut Heaven.

“Ground control to Major Tom.” Hank waved a thick hand in front of Gavin’s face. “You havin’ a stroke?”

Gavin shook his head to clear it. Yep, sure enough, there were two very real, very sexy, _very_ naked guys staring back at him, waiting.

_Suck on that, Saint Peter_.

“Nah,” he said. “I was just thinking.”

“About?” asked Hank.

The smile felt like warm, melty caramel. “About how goddamn lucky I am.”

While Connor echoed the smile and took Gavin’s hand, Hank winked and said, “Don’t forget it, either.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Gavin. “How do you want to do this? Gentleman’s choice.”

Trying for a sour look, Hank said, “Ain’t no gentlemen here, kid. But how about...on my back? I kinda want to see your face.”

His cock aching but his chest kind of achy, too, Gavin stepped in close and put a hand against Hank’s neck. “I kinda want that, too,” he said. With Connor’s help, he guided Hank back onto the mattress. The view was just as amazing as it had been a couple days ago: Hank with his feet planted on the bed, spread wide so Gavin could get in there, that amazing cock resting against the swell of his belly.

“How much prep do you need?” Gavin asked.

“Not much,” Hank said. “A little.”

Nodding, Gavin put out his hand. “Con...d’you mind?”

Connor gave an indulgent smile and reached behind his back to slide two fingers into his incredible, tight ass—one that was a million times better because it was basically a lube factory, too.

Gavin had wanted to watch; he loved seeing Connor fingerfuck himself.

But Connor took a big handful of his hair and hauled him in for another kiss that still tasted like _Hank_.

Grunting with pure pleasure, Gavin sucked the flavor right off Connor’s tongue. When he sat back, his palm and fingers were dripping with warm, shimmery, slippery stuff.

Connor put one white hand on Hank’s chest. He curled the fingers of the other around his massive girth. “I’d like to suck your cock,” he purred, “while Gavin is inside you. Is that acceptable?”

The sound Hank made was a hundred percent pure _strangled moose_ and Gavin could relate. “Hng. Uh, acceptable. Yeah. Just, uh... _wait_.” Then he twisted and heaved, clutching Connor’s wrist in a death grip because Gavin Five-Seconds-Away-From-Coming-On-Himself Reed had just worked two slippery fingers inside him.

Hank clenched tight around Gavin’s fingers and _goddamn_ —it was almost Connor-level tight. If he had a little padding over the top these days, he was obviously still beefcake underneath.

Connor was running interference like a champ, though, leaning over Hank to whisper _Breathe_ against his lips before pushing his tongue into Hank’s mouth and flicking one of his nipples.

Listening to the slick and breathy sounds as they kissed and feeling the smooth tightness around his fingers, Gavin wasn’t going to last before he went crazy. Apparently, neither was Hank, as the hand that wasn’t tangled in Connor’s hair started sneaking down toward his straining cock.

Gavin reached over and grabbed his wrist, holding him back. “Uh-uh.” He couldn’t regret that particular bit of torment, though, because what it pulled out of Hank was an honest-to-Pete _whine_ that made Gavin feel more lightheaded than the time he huffed super glue in middle school. “You ready?” he asked, trying to shake off the vertigo.

“Yeah,” Hank rasped. His skin was flushed all the way from his hairline down to the furry divot between his pecs. His cock was flushed, too—the silky skin stretched tight and wet along its full, impressive length as it leaked steadily. “Not gonna last long.”

Gavin very nearly said _I won’t, either_. He glanced over at Connor, who met his eyes with a look that would have scared the shit out of a prowling tiger. He licked his pink lips and Gavin choked back a whimper.

Even though they were both on-edge and desperate, Gavin appreciated when Connor stroked along his spine and kissed his shoulder as he leaned in.

Hank was looking up, expectant.

“Hey, uh…” Gavin started.

“What?”

It was so still for a second it even felt like the ceiling fan had stopped moving.

“Just kiss me, huh? You’re gonna do great.” It came out all in a rush, and he didn’t give Hank any time to speak before crushing their mouths together.

Hank clutched the back of Gavin’s head, thick fingers massaging through his hair. When they broke, he was smiling. “Yeah, I know.” Then, with a _hint_ of desperation: “Just don’t make me wait.”

Gavin nodded.

Connor palmed a little more of his personal slippery stuff onto Gavin’s hand and he slicked up, pulling his fingers free a half second before starting to push in. It had been a long time since he’d put his cock in a human guy ( _that_ sounded weird). But while he was moving inch by inch as carefully as he could, he had to tip his hat to Cyberlife one more time for making it feel pretty much the exact same. Which was, of course, _completely fucking wonderful_. There was nothing better than enjoying fucking exactly the same amount as getting fucked.

Hank didn’t stop him, but he didn’t rush him along, either. Just waited and breathed deep.

Since Gavin was only _staring_ _at_ the six-mile cock and not _wearing_ it, he didn’t take too long to bottom out, letting go of a little whimper and clutching at Hank’s knee as he did. He had about two and a half seconds to process the fact that he was, unbelievably, _balls deep in Lieutenant Hank Anderson_.

Then, Connor hummed in delight and ducked his head, silky hair brushing Gavin’s belly as he swallowed Hank’s cock.

As for Hank, he dug his fingers deep into the bed. The sheet underneath them bunched up and one corner popped up off the end of the mattress and crumpled in his grip. “Oh, _fuck_. God...fucking _fuck_.”

“How’re you doing?” Gavin asked. His _right-in-the-middle-of-sex_ voice was a whole lot less than manly.

“Good. Don’t you dare stop.”

Biting his lip, Gavin drew his hips back a little before pushing in again, bringing a painfully sexy, helpless groan out of Hank’s throat. After closing his eyes for a moment, he felt okay to start thrusting.

Hank’s little swears and groans covered up most of the other sounds in the room, and that was good.

Gavin had enough trouble keeping on an even keel seeing Connor with his pretty mouth stretched tight and dripping slick android spit every time he pulled back. Cool trickles of that spit had pooled around the fat base of Hank’s cock and began sliding down his ass crack to spill over where Gavin was buried inside him.

_Just hold on. You can do it. Hold the fuck on._

Connor, that sonofabitch, took hold of one of Gavin’s hands and pressed it tight against his neck. He’d taken Hank so goddamn deep that Gavin could feel the head of his cock moving around near the hollow of his throat. Instead of pulling his hand away or blowing his load, though, he _squeezed_ that long, white neck.

Hank groaned and fucking _Connor_ squirmed and moaned...and they would _definitely_ be looking into _that_ response in the near future. _Oh, yes_.

In the same way that Gavin had shocked himself snapping back so quickly after Connor first dropped the _Daddy-_ bomb, he doubled down then, determined not to nut until he was good and ready. He yanked his hand away from Connor’s neck and grabbed his hair instead, forcing his head down until his nose was pressed onto Hank’s hip bone. At the same time, he started thrusting faster, using Connor as leverage where he was pinned with Hank’s gigantic cock filling his throat.

Hank roared, bucking and clamping down. “Fuck, Connor! _Shit...fuck_. Gavin, c’mon—”

_No. Oh, no. Don’t say it please don’t say it please…!_

“— _fuck me_.”

Ohh, that was it. Two little words and Gavin’s self-control zipped off and vaporized like a fucking goose sucked through a jet engine. He shut his eyes tight, let his jaw drop, and just _howled_ , hanging onto Connor and Hank as he twitched and jerked through it.

When he was spent and panting, tingling from toes to scalp, he finally opened his eyes.

Connor pulled away, the spit dribbling down his chin making his puzzled look a little more goofy.

Hank was chuckling, his cock still stiff as a roof beam. “Someday you’ll outlast me, kid,” he said, “but today ain’t that day.”

Gavin wanted to be pissy, but he was too fucked-out to care. Still, he hauled in a breath and wheezed, “Fuck you, old man.”

Winking, Hank said, “Think you just did. Now, how about giving him a turn?”

“Are you sure?” Connor’s voice was totally clear, of course. If Gavin could even manage getting that utility pole into his throat, he’d still be talking like a goddamn Muppet for a year afterward.

“Yeah,” Hank said. “Wanna know how it feels. Never had a liter of spunk dumped in me before.”

Gavin’s poor cock twitched at that. For the first time, he almost wished he was an android so he could get hard and dive right in again. For the moment at least—jittery, loose, and deflating fast—he slid out and let Connor duck between Hank’s thighs. Hopefully it wouldn’t take too long. It was going to be tough for Gavin to hold his head up pretty damn soon.

But holy _hell_ , watching both their faces as Connor slid in shot to the top of Gavin’s personal list of _sexiest things ever witnessed_.

Shocking the bejesus out of Gavin— _and_ Hank—Connor got his fingers right underneath Hank’s ass and hoisted his hips up off the bed with zero effort. It was almost funny: this guy roughly the size of a rhinoceros getting forklifted by a slippery pale twink.

To Hank’s credit, he recognized right away _exactly_ what he could get away with and hooked his knees right over Connor’s shoulders as Connor shuddered and chewed his lip and thrust in deep.

Gavin wanted to scream at his limp dick to get it together, but rocketing back fifteen seconds after the orgasm of a lifetime wasn’t possible...for a human. As a consolation prize, he jammed two fingers up his ass and snaked the other hand right below Hank’s balls to feel Connor fucking him—the same way Hank had done on their very first night as a threesome.

Connor’s amazing cock, now hard and straining and slick, glided through Gavin’s fingers with a sound that was as gloriously filthy as the feeling.

“Fuck,” Hank gritted out, pawing at his huge cock as it slapped against his belly. “Gimme some of that lube. Ain’t gonna last.”

Gavin was reluctant to move either of his hands, but it turned out he didn’t have to. Connor, the Galaxy’s Most Incredible Piece of Ass, held Hank up with one hand and reached back to dip out some of his homemade fuck cocktail.

“You just hold on,” he told Hank, winking, then proceeded to hammer into him while solidly jerking that enormous monument.

It was ball-achingly beautiful and Gavin thought he might cry, have a heart attack, or both.

“ _Fuck...Christ...gonna come!_ ” That was Hank, and he was right, because as soon as the words were out, he seized up and yanked Connor against him with his powerful legs. Everybody with a dick knows that the older you get the less distance you can get with any one nut—even if you haven’t beaten off in a year. But Hank was ready to defy that, because he bellowed and fountained up clear over his belly, spattering his chest hair and part of his neck.

“Gavin,” Connor said with total calm, “give me your fingers, lover. I want to come.”

_You know when you blow up a latex balloon then pinch the neck and let the air out a little bit at a time so it sounds like a mini air raid siren?_ That was pretty much the noise Gavin made before whipping his sloppy fingers out from between Hank and Connor and sliding them down Connor’s perfect, hairless crack. They popped into his tight warmth with no resistance.

Connor’s brow furrowed and his mouth fell open. He came for fifteen seconds straight, clutching Hank’s thighs and squeezing the everliving hell out of Gavin’s fingers.

_I Broke My Hand in My Robot Boyfriend’s Asshole_ would be the title of Gavin’s autobiography. Which, thankfully, he would never write.

Anyway... _worth it._

When Connor finally recovered, he...sort of didn’t? He was making soft little noises that maybe would have been breaths if he was human. Then his head just sort of flopped forward and his eyes started to leak.  

If Gavin had so far avoided a heart attack, this was what was going to do it.

_Oh, Jesus fuck_ , he thought, _we broke him!_

Panic was ramping up like one of those old toy cars you rev by dragging them backwards, but Hank (as usual) saved the goddamn day.

“Hey,” he said. “Hey, Con. Come on, sweetheart. It’s okay. You go on and let it out.”

“I—maybe I should” —Connor made a noise that sounded an _awful_ lot like a hiccup— “submit myself for diagnostic testing. This is un—unprecedented.”

Suddenly horrified that he still had a couple fingers wedged inside his _apparently crying boyfriend_ , Gavin slipped his hand free and wiped it quickly on the sheet before touching Connor’s shoulder.

Hank had grabbed the one hand Connor wasn’t using to wipe at his cheeks. “Nah, kiddo. You’re not malfunctioning. You feel things, sometimes you cry. That’s the way it is.”

The expression on Connor’s face when he looked up was part frustration and part betrayal, but at the same time so totally puppy-dog _innocent_ that Gavin bit back a giggle.

“But that’s—” Connor started.

_Inconvenient? Embarrassing?_

“ _Stupid_!” he said, half-pouting.

That time, Gavin lost it and Hank joined in laughing, too.

“It sure as fuck is,” Hank told him. “Look, I’m just happy it’s not _me_ doing the crying.”

“This time,” Gavin said.

Hank grinned, all mussed-up and gap-toothed and sweet. He grabbed Gavin’s hand with the hand that wasn’t holding Connor’s. “Yeah, kid. This time.”

 

**

 

Well, Gavin couldn’t blame Toula for eye-fucking Hank from the moment they all walked into the diner. He was, after all, a total silver fox.

Gavin shoved down the little twinge of jealousy, too. They hadn’t talked about doing anything outside of the three of them, and it was a fact that, just like Connor, Hank went for more than dudes.

Toula settled them all in one of those big half-circle booths, everyone crammed together: Connor, Gavin, Hank, Tina, and Demetrios. “Look at my babies,” she said, tilting her chin and pretending to wipe away a tear. “I start you with coffee, yeah?”

_Oh, yeah. That was a given._

Tina, of course, had to bring it up. She was sharp...sometimes too sharp. “Your mom’s a good-looking lady, Demi.”

Even through his olive complexion and mild tan, Demetrios blushed. “I never noticed.”

Looking offended, Tina punched him on the shoulder. “Good God, dude. You can say somebody’s objectively attractive without wanting to fuck them.”

Instead of burying his face in his hands or running for the hills, Demetrios actually took a deep breath, then fixed Tina with a fake-irritated stare. “I don’t want to fuck anybody.”

“I know, dumbass.”

“Fine, then,” he said. “Loser.”

Tina grinned and maybe—just _maybe_ —did a little blushing herself. “Aw, Demi. I love it when you call me ‘loser.’”

They looked like they were going in for a kiss, right there in front of everyone, but they only bumped noses like fucking dogs.

Gavin pretended to gag.

He was _thrilled_.

Toula came back juggling five chunky mugs and set them down.

“I don’t—” Connor started, but he happened to look down into the mug Toula set in front of him.

“I get you the blue stuff,” she said, looking triumphant. “Jamila, the cook, she have it _all_ the time!”

Gavin peered over the edge of the cup. Sure enough, the stuff inside was bright blue. “That like...android booze?”

Connor laughed. “No. Thirium is the substance that circulates through and around our internal components. It can be administered subdermally, but there is no harm in drinking it.”

Smiling, Gavin turned. “Thanks, Toula. That’s awesome.”

“Of course, honey. So this is maybe Pappa?” Toula asked, touching Hank’s shoulder.

If it was possible to go from pleased to praying for death in a single second, that’s what Gavin did.

Hank laughed. “No, not quite,” he told her.

“Ahh,” Toula said, drawing the vowel out.

If anything, Gavin was _more_ terrified.

Toula slapped her palm down much harder on Hank’s shoulder this time. “I _see_. Is not Pappa. Is _Daddy_.”

Connor came close to choking on his blue stuff, if that was even possible. Tina’s jaw dropped. Gavin covered his face with his hands.

“Mamma!” Demetrios gasped. “For God’s sake!”

Through his fingers, Gavin watched Toula pat Hank a final time.

“You get tired of the _melitzána_ ,” she said to him, “you come see Toula.”

 

**

 

**_**Coda No. 1**_ **

It was a crazy gamble—even Gavin could see that. Even so, he’d been hella impressed when Connor went in to try and pull strings at Cyberlife. Turned out the Detroit PD’s android consultant was kind of a superstar back at home base. He’d helped close so many cases and defused so many human-android scuffles that nobody in the company batted an eye when he expensed the occasional swank bottle of hooch.

Gavin was so goddamn proud that his eyes were probably full of literal pink animated hearts. Before there was any news from the company about their unusual request, he happily spent a full day wandering around his house stark-ass naked, only stopping to give Connor foot rubs or blow jobs or letting Connor fuck him on every piece of furniture that would take their weight. Luckily, it was full spring and warm enough to be comfortable. By sunset, Gavin was sore and happy and dripping shimmery stuff in a constant stream down both thighs.

In the end, a decision came down from the office of Elijah Kamski himself. He had a public reputation for looking down on pretty much everybody, on top of being a weird, creepy loner. Gavin had never met the guy and likely wouldn’t, but he’d swear after this even hard-ass Kamski was hiding a soft, mushy center very few people got to see.

_Heh...Gavin could relate._

The domestic android called Sebastian was still alive. Uh, functional. Whatever. Point was, Cyberlife hadn’t sent him to the scrap yard or something horrible, even though he’d killed a human. Gavin and Connor were sworn to secrecy—and came away from the meeting a hundred percent sure that Kamski could and _would_ ruin their lives if word got out. They’d already decided to tell Hank, but he wasn’t the chatty type, anyway.

When the guy showed up, his hair was red and his eyes green instead of the blond/blue combo from before. Connor took it all as no big deal, so Gavin decided to be quietly freaked out that he could just _swap his goddamn_ _eyeballs_ , for fuck’s sake.

None of it mattered because the girl, Jessica, recognized him right away. She’d chopped all of her curly hair off, but the short, uneven cut suited her. Sebastian knew her at once, too. The two of them spent a good chunk of time sobbing all over each other before they turned and started clinging and bawling on Gavin and Connor.

It was a little annoying...but at the same time Gavin had to that he’d gotten a cough to cover a sniffle or two.

Cyberlife had set Sebastian up as a janitor at the precinct house. It wasn’t anything glamorous, but it was low-profile and he could pull down a little cash. And, most importantly, he could see Jessica.

After everything was settled, Connor and Hank offered Gavin a night out for coming up with the idea, promising to throw him all the top-shelf liquor he could handle. He turned it down for an evening on the couch, sandwiched between the two of them with tons of Chinese takeout on the table and shitty comedies on the TV.

His belly full of lo mein, Gavin even waved away a post-feast fuck. Instead, he and Hank crashed out on the bed while Connor did...whatever he did when humans had to sleep. It felt sweet and easy, not urgent.

After all, they had _plenty_ of time.

 

**

 

**_**Coda No. 2**_ **

DPD Homicide’s basketball team went on to _totally annihilate_ Cyber Crime in that spring’s playoff game, thanks to its top scorer and MVP, Tina “Tiny Terror” Chen.

 

**

 

_“If we shadows have offended,_

_Think but this, and all is mended:_

_That you have but slumber’d here_

_While these visions did appear._

_And this weak and idle theme,_

_No more yielding but a dream…”_

 

-Shakespeare, _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_

(Puck’s epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and they lived sappily ever after.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [@YeWriterBitche](https://twitter.com/YeWriterBitche) on Twitter. Feel free to say hi!


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